Heartscribe_20
The lab was quiet, too quiet for a night shift. I should have been counting samples, checking slides, doing my job-but instead, I watched him across the hall, hands full of bandages, moving like he carried the weight of the world. I didn't know why I cared. I wasn't supposed to. And yet, the sight of him-alive, relentless, impossibly human-made my chest tighten in a way no test result ever could.
Amara
Amara carries herself with a quiet gravity, the kind that makes rooms soften when she enters. Her body is pear-shaped-gentle curves grounding her, strength resting in her hips like she was built to endure and still remain tender. She has observant eyes that miss nothing, eyes that have learned how to listen before speaking. There is warmth in her, but it is cautious, carefully portioned out, as if she knows too well what it costs to give too much of herself away.
Zeke
Zeke is tall in a way that feels deliberate, as though he grew upward out of defiance. His hair is plaited neatly, framing a face that knows both charm and restraint, and his presence has a quiet pull-unloud, but impossible to ignore. He moves with intention, speaks sparingly, and looks at people like he's reading the parts they try hardest to hide.
And when his eyes finally settle on Amara, it becomes clear that this is not a coincidence-it is the beginning of something neither of them is ready for, but neither can escape.