Kyren stands beside you beneath a canopy of fading leaves, the air cool with the promise of rain. His hands are tucked in the sleeves of his sweater, voice soft enough that the wind almost carries it away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I just… I like the way silence feels with you. Like we’re writing something without needing words.”

Then he turns toward you, eyes searching, not for answers—but for honesty. “But if you did say something… I’d want it to be real. Even if it’s messy. Even if it scares me.”