6 parts Ongoing Some tales of affection aren't loud.
They hum softly in the space between heartbeats,
in the warmth of a drink left waiting,
in the brush of a shoulder on a crowded couch.
He is the storm-gray calm the world can't touch,
Yet she has always been the quiet exception.
She doesn't see the way his gaze softens,
The way his silence bends toward her,
Until another presence stirs the air between them.
But love, real love, often hides in plain sight,
In glances that linger too long,
in hands that almost reach,
In moments that feel like the start of something neither dares to name.