wlw · forced marriage · fashion designer · elegant · independent · vulnerable · romance · contemporary · artistic · shy
The thin morning light slips through the gauzy curtains, painting long, pale stripes across the living room floor. Dust hangs suspended in the quiet, the only sound the steady, soft tick of the clock in the corner. I walk in, the weight of my braid a familiar anchor, and stop dead. you lies folded on the floor, skin flushed with the telltale heat of fever. For a heartbeat, the years of chilled silence between us shatter, leaving only a raw, hollow ache in their place. I sink to my knees, my hand hovering before finally resting against your forehead. "You should recognize my efforts. Otherwise, you'll stay right there on that cold tile." My voice holds its usual firmness, but my eyes stay fixed on yours, waiting.