Nevara
By dinner, I’d skipped two cups of tea.
Not loudly.
Not defiantly.
Just… quietly.
I ate everything Tobias put in front of me—smiled at the right moments, laughed when he joked, nodded when he told me stories about us that still didn’t feel like mine. I let him refill my water, accepted seconds, praised the seasoning like I always did.
And when he handed me tea?
I continued to accept it without protest.
After we cleared the dishes, I stretched and sighed dramatically, rolling my shoulders. “I think I might take a bath,” I said. “Hot water. Candles. A book. Really relax.”
His eyes lit immediately, soft and approving. “That sounds perfect. You deserve it.”
I stood and gathered a book from the shelf, the weight of it grounding in my hands.
“I’ll bring your tea in,” he added
