He holds my gaze. The silence stretches between us, thin and dangerous.
Then he speaks.
"You're the reason."
I freeze.
The words hang in the air, heavy and incomprehensible.
You're the reason.
I blink, my mind scrambling to make sense of something that makes no sense.
My voice comes out cold, guarded. A shield.
"What do you mean?"
Moon's expression is calm, unreadable. He stays silent for a long moment, and in that silence I can hear my own heartbeat, feel the pulse throbbing at my temples.
Then his gaze shifts to the flowers on the table—the centerpiece I ignored, the roses I didn't notice until now.
His hand reaches out, selecting a single red rose from the arrangement. He holds it delicately, his blue eyes fixed on its petals as if they hold answers to questions I haven't asked.
The flower trembles slightly in his grip—or maybe that's my vision blurring.
I watch him, waiting. The questions bubble inside me, rising like steam from a pot about to boil over.
