POV: Astraea
Morning light crept across the ceiling, slow and golden, brushing past the curtains like fingers too hesitant to reach. Astraea lay still beneath the sheets, eyes open long before the sun had risen. The warmth in the room didn't reach her. Neither did the soft birdsong outside.
She had cried in silence the night before.
Not because he had lied—Ren never lied to her.
But because he hadn't denied it.
"You are more than the world allows me to show."
The words echoed like a door gently closing. Not slammed. Not locked. Just… closed.
Her fingers brushed across her cheek, still dry but puffy beneath her eyes. She wasn't ashamed. Astraea had wept before—many times—but last night had left something quiet inside her, not hollow, but paused.
She didn't remember falling asleep.
But she remembered his presence beside her long after her tears ended. His hand on her shoulder. The question he asked when her breath had steadied.
Would you be content if I took you on a date?
And she had nodded.
That was what mattered now. That he had asked.
That she would see him today, and not as a shadow to his life, but beside him. In the light. Even if only borrowed.
She rose and dressed carefully.
Astraea never needed long. She didn't wear perfume or makeup. She had no need for illusion. But today—today she pulled open her drawer of forgotten human things. A soft, indigo dress she'd once bought and never worn. Flat shoes. A coat.
She brushed her hair more gently than usual, weaving a single thin braid behind her ear.
In the mirror, she didn't quite smile. But she didn't look away either.
They met at a quiet park tucked into the folds of the city—a place with a wooden footbridge, a slow stream, and a garden of wildflowers that hadn't yet bowed to summer.
Ren was already waiting on the bench beneath the willow tree, dressed simply in a dark jacket and slacks, his hair neat, eyes calm.
When he looked up, Astraea thought for a moment that maybe—just maybe—he'd felt something stir, too.
He stood.
"You look nice," he said.
She tilted her head slightly. "You don't normally say things like that."
"I don't normally take you on dates."
The faintest smile flickered across her lips. "True."
She sat beside him, keeping a slight distance, though everything in her wanted to press closer.
They watched the water for a while.
It shimmered in ripples beneath the breeze, catching light and shadow alike. Ducks passed slowly by, one trailing behind the others as though deep in its own thoughts.
"Do you come here often?" she asked, just to say something.
Ren shook his head. "No. I chose it because I knew no one else would come today."
Her eyes flicked toward him. "You planned this."
"I always plan."
Another silence.
"Does that include me?" she asked, voice soft.
He glanced at her, unreadable. "Yes."
They walked along the bridge next, neither speaking much. Astraea's fingers occasionally brushed against his when their hands swung too close. Each time, she wanted to take his hand—but didn't.
Not yet.
He led her to a small café tucked behind ivy-covered brick walls. It was almost too quaint for Ren—almost. But Astraea knew he had chosen it for her, not himself.
A table waited by the window. The waitress greeted Ren with a polite nod, and Astraea realized he had called ahead, likely ensured the place was reserved, the surroundings controlled.
Even now, he created perfect silence. A sanctuary.
He ordered black tea. Astraea ordered honey-rose milk.
Their cups steamed between them.
"You didn't have to do all this," she murmured, eyes resting on the delicate china.
"I said I would," Ren replied. "And you said you'd be content."
"I said I'd try to be."
He didn't argue.
Astraea looked out the window. The light caught the strands of her braid, glinting like soft silver.
"I think I forgot how to be normal," she said. "How to sit in a place like this and pretend everything's simple."
Ren looked at her, not blinking. "You don't have to pretend with me."
"That's the problem," she said, her smile weak but not unkind. "You're the only one I can't pretend with."
They left the café after a quiet hour, walking back toward the garden path. The world seemed unreal—too soft, too peaceful.
It didn't belong to them.
But today, it allowed them to borrow it.
Ren stopped walking when they reached the edge of a hill where windflowers danced in bunches. He turned to her, and for a moment, his face was unguarded. Not smiling. But real.
"Astraea," he said.
She faced him. Her heart beat faster—not because she was afraid, but because she was never ready when he looked at her like that. Like he remembered everything. Like he regretted nothing, and everything, all at once.
"If this is all I can give you," he said, "is it enough?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she stepped closer, enough that the wind no longer passed between them. Her fingers brushed his sleeve, and this time, she didn't pull away.
"It's not enough," she whispered. "But I'll take it."
They didn't kiss.
There was no dramatic touch, no sudden romance. Only the kind of closeness that burns slowly and forever.
When the sun dipped beneath the edge of the sky, Ren walked her back to the bus stop. They didn't speak. There was nothing left to say.
Not today.
Astraea sat alone as the bus pulled away, her fingers tracing the curve of her wrist where his warmth had been.
And in her chest, for the first time in weeks, was a strange feeling.
Not joy.
Not sorrow.
But something steady.
Something close to peace.
End of Chapter 136