The apartment quiets around us until even the air feels hushed.
I stand in her doorway and become aware of the smallest details — the faint rhythm of her breathing, the whisper of fabric between her fingers, the soft fall of sunlight across the curve of her shoulder. The world beyond this room recedes, leaving only the narrow space we share and the unseen current moving gently through it.
Something in the air recognizes us standing there together.
The presence gathers — not pressing, not forcing — but settling closer, like warmth drawn to warmth.
Lila's back remains to me. A shirt caught loosely in her grasp as if she has forgotten what she is meant to do with it. Her breathing has slowed, deepened, as though she is listening inward.
The current shifts.
And something in my chest an
