His tone softens just slightly, and a small head peeks out from behind a table, big gray eyes studying me cautiously as a marker is clutched tightly in his hand.
He is adorable.
And unmistakably Roman’s.
I crouch down slowly, offering him a warm smile.
“Hi,” I say softly. “You must be Sasha.”
He does not respond, but he does not hide either, and I take that as a win.
I straighten and step back a little, giving him space.
“I’m Amalie,” I continue. “This is amazing.”
I gesture toward the cityscape.
“Did you draw this?”
He nods, barely.
My smile widens.
“This is really good. I love how the buildings lean. It feels like the wind is pushing them.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can feel Roman watching, assessing every word, every reaction.
Sasha studies me for a long moment before speaking, his voice so quiet I almost miss it.
“They’re leaning away.”
My chest tightens.
“Away from what?”
He moves closer to the drawing and points.
“The storm. They’re scared.”
Something twists in my chest at the quiet certainty in his voice.
“They want to run,” he adds, “but they can’t.”
God.
I glance at another drawing, a larger figure beside a smaller one.
“I like this one too,” I say. “The hands are really detailed.”
“That’s Papa,” he says, touching the larger figure before pointing to the smaller one. “That’s me. Mama is gone.”
The words land softly but hit hard.
“You did a beautiful job,” I tell him, keeping my voice gentle. “You’re really talented.”
A faint flush rises to his cheeks.
“Everyone says that.”
