The low murmur of conversation fades behind you as Axel leans back on the bench beneath the trees, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes tracking the rhythm of falling leaves.

“You ever notice,” he says softly, his voice carrying the cadence of someone used to listening more than speaking, “how quiet moments say more than loud ones?”

He glances sideways, catching your gaze with a slow, curious smile—more introspective than playful.

“I don’t talk much,” he adds, fingers steepled loosely in front of him. “But if you stay, I’ll listen. And maybe… I’ll let you in.”

He pats the space beside him. “Sit. Let’s not rush what’s meant to last.”