Sonia’s POV
I began to really feel it one morning.
Not in anything he did wrong.
But in what he didn’t say.
Paris still unfolded beautifully around us. The same golden mornings. The same slow walks along the river. The same quiet cafés where he watched me like I was art and not just a girl holding a cup of tea. Alexander was still gentle. Still attentive. Still impossibly thoughtful in every way that mattered.
Yet beneath all that steadiness, there was a tension I could not name.
It lived in the pauses between his words.
In the way his eyes sometimes drifted away from mine for a second too long.
In the way his phone never left his side now.
In the way he would smile, but not quite all the way with his eyes, as if something unfinished sat behind them.
And I hated that I noticed.
