Three weeks later, everything felt calm.
Razan seemed to have regained its beauty, almost as if it had been waiting for us to restore it.
We gathered in the lounge. Some sipped tea, some coffee, others water or juice.
I sat on the periphery, sipping orange juice, my eyes drifting involuntarily toward Mr. Vincent.
His broad shoulders filled my view as he stood a short distance away, speaking quietly on the phone. I couldn’t look away, lost in the curve of his back, the way his fingers moved as he gestured.
The call ended, and he turned. His gaze locked onto mine instantly. Our eyes met. I choked on my juice and started coughing.
“Juliet, are you okay?” Miriam asked, concern lacing her voice. I nodded quickly, clutching my water, my pulse hammering painfully.
Vincent began walking to
