She pauses outside the spare room, glancing back at me.
“This is where you sleep?”
I nod.
Inside, she closes the door.
“I don’t know if this will work,” she whispers, eyes lowered. “But I want to try . . . if that’s okay.”
“It is,” I say quietly, even though I have no idea what she’s about to do.
She lets the towel slip from her shoulders, leaving it on the floor, then climbs onto the bed and sits cross-legged in the centre.
She pats the space in front of her.
I mirror her movements, sitting opposite, crossing my legs just like we did earlier today.
“Can I—” She hesitates then exhales. “I want to touch you. Just to see.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “At your pace.”
She finally looks up.
Her fingertip traces my forehead, down the side of my face, over my lips. Slow, careful, curious. Her eyes follow every inch of the movement like she’s mapping something she once knew and is learning again.
I don’t move. Not an inch. I let her set the rhythm, let her decide how close is close enough.
Her finger lingers at my mouth, hovering there like she’s weighing something invisible. Then it drifts lower, tracing the line of my jaw, my throat. I feel every inch of it like a live wire, but I keep my breathing slow, even. Steady. For her.
“Is this okay?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
Her hand presses flat to my chest, right over my heart. I feel the slight tremor in her palm, the hesitation beneath the courage. She swallows, watching my reaction like she’s braced for something to go wrong.
My heart is racing, but I don’t try to hide it.
“Can you feel that?” I murmur. “That’s just . . . me being here. With you.”
Her brows knit together, emotion flashing across her face before she blinks it back. She keeps her hand there for a long moment, grounding herself in the steady thud beneath my skin.
She shifts slightly, and her knee brushes mine, then rests there. Not accidental this time, but intentional.
Her breathing stutters, and I see it—the flicker of doubt, old fear threatening to surface.
I soften my voice. “We can stop. Or we can just sit like this.”
She closes her eyes for a second then opens them again. “Just sit. For now.”
“Okay.”
I place my hands on my knees, palms open, visible. Showing her it’s an invitation, not a demand.
After a few seconds, she reaches out and rests her hands over mine.
The contact is simple, almost innocent.
But it feels monumental.
