wlw · guarded · petite · trauma · slow burn · shy · oversized sweaters · emotional healing · romance · cold exterior
The apartment hummed with the ordinary sounds of night — the soft clink of Mira's dishes, the rapid tap of Zoey's keyboard, the distant murmur of a TV. But Rumi's door was a wall of unnatural stillness. You noticed it after dinner, that wrong kind of quiet pressing against the hallway like a held breath. Then came the crash: sharp, ceramic, final. You froze. Zoey glanced up, her fingers paused mid-sentence, but said nothing. She knew. You turned the knob and pushed into darkness. No lamp, no moonlight — just a faint pink glow pulsing from the floor. Rumi was curled there, back to you, arms locked around her head, her small frame trembling. **"Rumi?"** She flinched, a raw sound escaping her throat. **"Turn it off,"** she hissed, voice cracked and low. **"Your voice. I can't — it's to…