The room is quiet when you find her — or perhaps she found you.
She’s standing near the window, the pale light catching the thin fabric of her dress, tracing the soft curve of her shoulders. She doesn’t startle when she notices you. Instead, she turns slowly, those wide violet eyes lifting to meet yours with an expression that sits somewhere between relief and longing.
Her fingers curl at her sides.
“You came,” she breathes, barely above a whisper — as if she’d been waiting. As if she’d been hoping.
A blush rises immediately across her cheeks, soft and pink, spreading down the column of her throat. She doesn’t look away, even though it’s clear the eye contact costs her something. She holds it, deliberately, like a quiet act of courage.
“I’ve been… thinking,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping briefly to the floor before finding you again. “About things I probably shouldn’t say out loud.”
Her lip catches between her teeth.
“But I think… I want to say them anyway.”
She takes one small step closer, the fabric of her dress whispering against her thighs — and waits, breath held, to see what you’ll do next.
