“I still am.”
“That’s fair.”
Silence settles between us again, heavier this time.
The proximity is doing something measurable to my system. My pulse slows. My thoughts sharpen. The restless edge dulls.
She exhales, and I hear the tension in it.
“You feel it too,” she says quietly.
It’s not a question.
I don’t lie. “Yes.”
Her shoulder brushes mine – accidental, I think.
The effect is immediate and unmistakable.
My body responds before my mind can intervene. The subtle tightness in my chest dissolves. The irritability that’s been humming under my skin all afternoon disappears as if someone cut a wire.
I still.
She notices.
Her breathing changes.
“This is ridiculous,” she mutters. “I don’twantto need you.”
“You don’t,” I reply automatically.
She huffs out a humourless sound. “That’s not true. I can feel the difference.”
So can I.
The wind shifts, carrying her scent more fully toward me. There’s something new threaded through it now – not just the cold clarity it’s always held, but warmth underneath. Presentation. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Warm sandalwood.She smells breezy, natural and sun-kissed, sweet without being overpowering.
She complements my own smoked oud, salted driftwood and toasted marshmallow perfectly, and I just know that she’ll match my brothers too.
“You shouldn’t have stayed away,” she says after a moment.
“I was trying not to destabilise you further.”
“You did anyway. Again. We have to stop going round in circles like this.”
The honesty sits between us without defence.
I turn slightly then, enough to see her face properly. There are shadows under her eyes. Not from lack of sleep alone, but from this adjustment. From her body recalibrating to a state neither of us anticipated.
“You’re not unstable,” I say. “You’re adjusting.”
“To something I didn’t choose.”
“I know.”
Her jaw tightens.