The room is quiet except for the soft hum of rain against the window. Two people sit on the floor, surrounded by scattered books and warm cups of tea that have long gone cold. One of them leans against the sofa, eyes half closed, while the other rests their head in their lap, staring at the ceiling. There is no need for words. Fingers move slowly through hair, tracing absent patterns, while the other hand rests over a heart, feeling each steady beat. The rain picks up, drumming louder, but inside this small space, everything feels muted, safe. A smile passes between them, small and private, like a secret only they share. One of them reaches up, touching the other s cheek, thumb brushing softly across skin. The gesture says everything: I see you. I am here. The light outside shifts, grey and golden all at once, painting their faces in soft, watercolor tones. Time does not matter here. The clock on the wall ticks on, but they exist outside of it, suspended in a bubble of warmth and quiet
