"Now it feels... everything's flat."
I looked at him. "You can still feel?"
"If what I mean by feeling... is you, then maybe yes."
Damn. He was flirting with me again.
Silence. And my heartbeat skipped out of its rhythm.
Then he continued, softly—almost like a lost prayer in the night. "If I were still alive, I would've proposed to you."
I stopped breathing for a moment. Blinked several times. Trying to process it.
The glass in my hand trembled. It wasn't hot anymore, but my fingers suddenly felt cold.
"Jaka..." I turned to him.
He looked at me. Sharp, but calm. "I'm serious. I know we're from different worlds. But every time you sit like this, make tea, complain about the world, smile to yourself... I feel like I'm home."
I wanted to laugh. Or cry. But I stayed silent.
And maybe... that was the most honest sign that my heart had gone numb from all this strangeness. From a feeling that had grown in an illogical world. A feeling that—crazy or not—made me feel alive.
