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Link (Chapter 6): Chapter 6: The Space Between Days
Mira lit only one lamp.
It cast the room in a soft amber glow, turning the edges of her apartment gentle, almost forgiving. Outside, the city murmured like it always did, unaware that something fragile and deliberate was unfolding on a quiet couch above a bakery.
Arin stood near the doorway this time, notebook in hand, unsure whether to sit or speak first.
“You came,” Mira said, like it mattered.
“I said I would.”
She smiled. “You always do what you say.”
That landed heavier than a compliment.
They sat not as cautiously as before, not as close as they might have later. Somewhere in between. The place where choice lives.
Mira poured tea again, this time actually taking a sip. Arin noticed the small things the way she exhaled after, the way her shoulders loosened. He wondered when paying attention had become instinct.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“That sounds dangerous.”
She laughed softly. “For us? Always.”
She turned to him, one knee tucked beneath her, eyes steady and open.
“I don’t want to keep circling this,” she said. “I don’t want half-moments and pauses that pretend they’re protection.”
He nodded. “Neither do I.”
She studied him for a long second. “Then tell me this.”
He waited.
“Are you here because you’re curious… or because you’re choosing me?”
The room felt very still.
“I’m choosing,” Arin said quietly. “Even if I don’t know all the consequences yet.”
Mira’s breath caught not sharply, just enough to give her away.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m tired of wanting things silently.”
She shifted closer deliberately this time. Their knees touched, then stayed that way. The warmth wasn’t accidental anymore.
Arin lifted his hand, hesitated, then rested it gently against her forearm not claiming, not testing. Just present.
Mira didn’t pull away.
She leaned in instead, forehead resting briefly against his shoulder. The contact was simple. Intimate in a way that didn’t need translation.
“I feel safe with you,” she said softly. “That scares me.”
“It scares me too,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to walk away from it.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him really look.
“Then don’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of permission.
Mira reached for his notebook, flipping to a blank page.
“Write something,” she said. “For this moment.”
Arin took the pen, hands steady now, and wrote without overthinking:
Mira read it slowly, eyes shining with something that wasn’t quite tears.
“That,” she said, closing the notebook, “is exactly this.”
She leaned closer again close enough that breath mattered, that intention mattered. Their foreheads touched, a quiet pause hanging between them.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing broke.
It wasn’t the beginning of everything, but it was the end of pretending this was nothing.
... Chapter 8
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