Later that week, Ariana knocked on the art studio door.
"Kian? Are you here?"
He was.
Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, sketchbook open but untouched.
He looked up with tired eyes.
"I can't draw today," he whispered. đŁ
Ariana slid down beside him.
"Because of the storm?"
He nodded slowly.
"Everything I try to forget⊠keeps coming back."
Without overthinking, she reached for his hand.
Kian didn't hesitate.
He took her hand in both of hisâ
holding it tight
like she was the only thing anchoring him.
"ArianaâŠ" His voice cracked.
"I don't know how to be someone who feels this much." đ
She leaned gently against his shoulder.
"You don't have to be anything. Just⊠be here."
Kian turned slightly, his face inches from hers.
Too close.
Too intimate.
Too real.
"ArianaâŠ" he whispered again.
She felt his breath on her lips.
He leaned inâslowly, carefullyâ
but at the last second, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead instead.
It was tender.
Emotional.
Almost desperate.
A kiss that said everything he wasn't ready to say out loud. đ€