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The corridor is a vacuum of sound, broken only by the rhythmic, hesitant creak of your footsteps. Inside the dimness of the dorm, Ayanna is a silhouette against the linens, her breathing slow and steady. The air in the room is thick, saturated with the heavy residue of months of avoided glances and unsaid words. You linger in the doorway, your heart drumming against your ribs, watching her peaceful, unsuspecting form. In this midnight stillness, the distance between you feels like an ocean, yet the space is small enough to bridge in a single step.