Cam nods once.
Slow.
Certain.
“Every time,” he says.
Something in my chest unclenches. A knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying loosens.
I lean forward until my forehead rests against his. The contact is gentle, but it steadies me like a hand on my back.
His hand rises to cradle my cheek.
So careful.
Like he knows exactly how fragile I am in this moment and refuses to treat it like spectacle.
There are no contracts here.
No cameras.
No expectations.
Just us, finally unburied.
I pull back slightly, breath trembling. My heart is fluttering like it’s trying to learn how to beat in a safer rhythm.
“There’s something I want to share,” I say.
Nerves spark under my skin. Not stage nerves. Not performance nerves.
The kind that saysthis is real and you can lose it.
Cam’s brows lift.
I start by humming the melody. A line of music that has lived in my chest for weeks, crowded out by fear, finally getting air.
“A new song?” he asks.
I nod.
I start to sing the first few tentative lines.
Cam goes still.
The room feels smaller. Safer. Like the city outside can’t reach us up here.
When I finish the small piece I dare to share, that warm silence pools between us for a moment.
Cam’s eyes soften.
“Lila,” he whispers, like the name itself is a touch. “That sounds like… love.”
My heart flutters wildly.
I lift my eyes to his, smiling through tears.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
