>>Enya
I held Ahin's hand a little too tightly.
Not because I meant to. Just… because I was nervous. But of course, I meant to clutch his hand too. I like the heat of his body next to mine.
The fire flickered low in the hearth. Shadows danced on the ceiling, and in the far corner, little Rika was asleep, a soft snore escaping from beneath her blanket and the scarf Einar had given her. She looked peaceful, untouched by the growing storm outside. I envied that innocence.
Ahin sat beside me, silent and steady, his thumb gently brushing the back of my hand. That small gesture helped. It reminded me I wasn't alone in this.
Across from us, Einar was seated with his sketchbook balanced on one knee, charcoal smudged on his fingertips. He hadn't drawn in a while, not since the last Rika portrait, but tonight he seemed at ease, quietly observing us the way only Einar could—like he already knew everything and was just waiting for me to say it out loud.
I cleared my throat. "Einar?"
