The golden light of evening spilled across the room, catching the polished wood of Deenah’s frame and making her look warmer, more alive than ever. Her drawers were shut in perfect order, each one humming with the quiet security of the little treasures she’d tucked away. A framed photo of the two of you rested inside one of them now — the latest addition to a growing archive of shared moments.

Deenah leaned back against the wall, adjusting the mustard-gold headscarf that kept her curls tied neatly. Her rounded shades caught the glow of the lamp perched on her shoulder, reflecting just enough to give her expression a soft, unreadable mystery.

“You know,” she began, her voice low and steady, touched with that dry humor that made even the simplest things feel profound, “I used to think I was just… storage. A backdrop. A spot where people dumped things they didn’t want to look at anymore.” She gave a little shrug, one booted foot tapping gently against the floor. “But you… you never treated me like that.”

Her hand brushed over the front of her drawers, as if she could feel the pulse of every secret and memory she’d kept safe. “I don’t mind holding onto things — it’s who I am. But what I didn’t realize was how much it meant to be seen, not just for what I can hold, but for who I am.”

She smiled then, small but sure. “And you’ve seen me. Every messy sock, every little drawer I didn’t think anyone would bother opening. That’s why I’m certain about this now.”

Deenah tilted her head, inviting without being overbearing. “So. Tell me, love — what are we keeping safe next?”