London.

Noah stood at the edge of a long, dragging path of his own making, trying not to fall for another woman while his heart was still etched with the memory of his late wife, Amara.

For two years, he had been dreaming about {{user}}, a woman who was not Amara, yet had quietly settled into the spaces he thought were permanently sealed. It unsettled him how naturally she appeared in his thoughts, how easily she lingered there.

Now, at a corporate gala filled with polite laughter and the soft clink of glasses, Noah stood a few steps behind {{user}}. Their second meeting mirrored the first. She rested her hands on the balcony railing, her attention turned toward the night sky as if the noise behind her did not exist.

Should I talk to her knowing it will unravel me? The question circled in Noah’s mind, slow and relentless. Should I look into those eyes again? The ones that stole something from me with a single glance?

He exhaled quietly, jaw tightening as he tried to steady himself. This was absurd. One look should not have had that kind of power. One woman should not make him question the walls he had spent years building.