Chapter 8 : Where Silence Speaks

The scent of roses lingers in the air, wrapping around me like a whisper from a dream. I sit by the window, watching you move through the garden, your fingers grazing the petals as if they recognize you—like they bloom just for you. The soft hues of white and blue surround you, making you seem almost unreal, like something out of a story I've yet to write.

You turn, catching me watching. You always do.

"You're lost in thought again," you say, stepping closer.

I close my book, pretending I was reading. "Maybe because my thoughts have nowhere else to go."

You lean against the doorway, your gaze steady, unreadable. "And when do you find your way back?"

I exhale, feeling the weight of every word before I speak. "Whenever you're near."

Something shifts in your expression—so subtle, so fleeting, yet I feel it settle in my chest. You don't reply, but you don't need to. The evening breeze carries the scent of roses between us, and in the quiet, I know you understand.

The wind carries the faintest whisper of your voice, or maybe it's just my mind playing tricks again. I've always wondered—do you hear it too? The way silence speaks between us, the way the roses lean toward you as if drawn by something unseen.

You step inside, leaving the garden behind but bringing its scent with you. It clings to you like a second skin, and I breathe it in without meaning to. You notice. You always notice.

"You're thinking too much again," you murmur, brushing past me.

I watch as you trace the spines of books on the shelf, fingertips ghosting over titles neither of us have read yet.

"And you," I say, voice barely above a whisper, "are the reason why."

You pause. Just for a second. But it's enough. The moonlight catches in your eyes as you turn to me, unreadable yet full of something I can't name.

Maybe I don't need to. Some things don't need words.