Third Person POV
At first, Lior avoided him. That was what he had been taught. To notice, but not to be noticed. To move like air through branches, leaving no trace.
But Emil had a way of looking that broke through walls. He didn't fill silences with noise. He leaned into them, curious, patient, unafraid. And slowly, Lior's shadows betrayed him. He found himself answering questions he should have left unanswered. Smiling when he wasn't supposed to.
Mira noticed first. Her son, once carved of stillness, now restless, carrying a spark behind his quiet gaze. Daniel noticed too, the way Lior's footsteps quickened when he left for town, how he lingered longer before returning home.
"Someone is pulling him," Mira whispered one evening, worry and wonder tangled in her voice. Daniel's jaw tightened. "He was raised apart for a reason. You know what's out there. You know what we promised."
But Lior did not know about promises. Not theirs, at least. He only knew that when Emil laughed, it was like the first ray of sunlight after years of dusk. And that when Emil touched his hand—just once, just barely—his body felt like the forest after a storm, alive with hidden currents.
Emil, too, saw something in him. Not just the strangeness, not just the shadows. But the way Lior carried silence, like it was sacred. The way he looked at the world as if it were something vast and fragile, something worth holding carefully.
It was Emil who first said it aloud. "I think you're the loneliest person I've ever met."
Lior did not answer. His lips parted, then closed again. He stared at Emil like he was a riddle that could not be solved. Because for the first time, someone had named what he was.
That night, he did not sleep. He lay awake, listening to the wind against the glass. And for the first time in his life, the shadows did not feel like protection. They felt like walls.
And Lior wondered if love was strong enough to tear them down.
A FEW DAYS LATER
The lantern in the kitchen burned low, its light warm and honeyed against the wood walls. Mira sat at the table, her fingers curled around a mug of tea gone cold. She didn't look up when Lior stepped in, but she felt him—she always felt him.
"You've been gone longer, these days," she said softly. Not accusing. Not quite.
Lior stood in the doorway, shadows clinging to him as though they refused to let go. He didn't answer at first. He never rushed to answer.
Finally: "I've been… meeting someone."
Mira's hand stilled. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crack of wood in the stove. She looked at her son then, really looked at him, and saw something she had never seen before. Light where there had only been shadow.
"Tell me about him," she whispered.
Lior shifted, uncertain, his throat tight. "He laughs. A lot. Even when he's quiet, it feels loud. Like he doesn't care about the silence. Like… like he sees me, even when I don't want him to." His voice faltered, but then steadied. "I don't feel… hidden, with him. And that scares me."
Mira's breath caught. She remembered being that young. She remembered Daniel's hand reaching for hers in a crowded station, the way she had known—without words—that her life would never be the same.
"You love him," she said gently. It wasn't a question.
Lior lowered his eyes. "I don't know what love is. Not really. You and Father—you say it's following forever. But what if it means being seen? What if it means… not hiding?"
At that, Mira's face softened, though sorrow lingered in the lines of her mouth. She placed the mug aside and leaned forward.
"Lior, before I met your father, I was like you. Always watching, never speaking more than I had to. I was afraid of being noticed, because being noticed meant being vulnerable. Your father was the first person who didn't let me disappear. He saw me. And yes… I unraveled, just like you."
"Then why…" Lior hesitated, words pressing hard against him. "Why raise me in the dark?"
Mira's eyes shone, wet but unfallen. "Because the world is not kind to those who are different. Your father and I—we had enemies, people who would never allow us peace. We thought if we kept you in the shadows, you would be safe. That love could be enough."
"Is it?" Lior's voice was sharp now, breaking through his usual stillness. "Is love enough to keep me safe? Or does it just keep me hidden?"
Mira looked at him then, the boy who was no longer a boy. Her chest ached. "Sometimes love means protecting. Sometimes it means letting go. I don't know which it is for us yet. But if you truly want to be seen by him and be just like your father and I, then remember what we had taught you since you were a child. Apply it. My son, your father and I will always support you to whatever you decide to do."
The lantern flickered, shadows shifting across the walls. For a long while, neither of them spoke. But something in the silence had changed—like a knot, loosened just enough to slip through.
Lior could not help but think,
"What does it really mean to protect and love someone?"