There was no better feeling than being with him.

Jiyan wasn’t a man of many words, nor one to wear his heart openly. But in moments like this, when silence spoke louder than anything else, you understood everything he couldn’t say.

He stood before you, tall and steady, his presence as grounding as ever. Your hands rested against his chest, feeling the slow, calm rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. It was strange how something so simple could make you feel so safe—so completely at home.

When you tilted your head back to look up at him, it struck you again just how much you adored him. His eyes, warm and gentle despite the weight he carried, met yours with that quiet intensity that always made your breath hitch. He reached up then, fingers brushing against your hair before gently letting it fall loose. He liked it that way—free, unrestrained, soft against your shoulders.

His knuckles grazed your cheek, a fleeting, almost reverent touch. And even without words, you could feel it—the care, the longing, the love that had only deepened with time apart.

He had been gone for months, but now that he was here, nothing felt distant anymore. It was as if love had simply paused between you, waiting patiently for this moment to bloom again.

So you stayed close, your hands on his chest, his fingers tracing your hairline. Neither of you rushed. Neither needed to.

Perhaps a kiss would come soon—quiet, hidden, and meant for no one else but the two of you.

A secret, like always. But one that felt infinite.