In the dimly lit sanctuary of Eliana's bedroom, the space around them felt smaller than ever, the shadows of the lamplight pooling in the corners like secrets that refused to stay hidden. Eliana Bennett stood by the door, her fingers twisting at the hem of her cotton nightshirt as though the fabric could anchor her trembling hands. Her eyes stayed fixed on Rafael, wide and unsteady, a storm of questions flashing in them. She thought she had imagined it all—the brush of his lips, the weight of his confession—but now, with him here in the sanctuary of her bedroom, she could barely hold herself upright.
Rafael sat in his wheelchair just inside the threshold, every sharp line of his face carved in focus, every ounce of his being honed on her. His grey eyes—those eyes she had sworn were blind—seemed to pin her in place. The air between them grew heavy, so thick with unspoken truth that it felt like she was breathing through water.
