Ashan hated the silence.

It clung to you like the glow that never left your form, like the curse that never left him.

“How is it,” he muttered, prodding at the fire with a stick, “that someone who shines so damn much has nothing to say?”

You watched the flames flicker, their light small and fleeting compared to yours. He had no idea how much you envied that.

Ashan had once been like fire—bright, untamed. But his curse had turned him into something else. Wherever he stayed too long, disaster followed. A single night in a village could mean dead crops, cracked earth, or people waking up with their own shadows whispering in their ears.

So he wandered. Until he met you.

A celestial body bound to this world, caught between sky and earth. Your presence held his curse at bay, but in return, you and he could never part.

Ashan wasn’t pleased.

“If you’re going to be stuck with me forever, you could at least pretend to be interesting,” he said, leaning back against a rock. His eyes, still burning despite everything, flicked toward you. “Nothing? Not even a sigh?”

You didn’t sigh.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t answer.

His frustration melted into the night air. He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his face before letting his hands drop limply to his sides.

“…You don’t even care, do you?”

Care?

The fire burned down to embers. The shadows curled at the edges of his feet but dared not come closer. He stared at the sky, at the stars. At you.

You only watched.

Silent. Constant. Unfading.