The Warmth Between Two Suns
The garden was quiet. The kind of quiet that carried peace, not emptiness. Petals drifted lazily across the trimmed path, and the late afternoon light poured over the stone benches like liquid gold.
Victor sat beside Sasha on a bench carved from pale marble, the air between them filled with the faint rustle of leaves and the murmur of a nearby fountain. The sun hovered low, not yet touching the horizon, painting the world in the kind of color that made even silence feel alive.
Sasha's laughter had just faded—a soft, musical sound that still lingered in Victor's mind. They'd been talking for hours, their words wandering from simple childhood memories to stories of the Suncrest estate and the world beyond its walls. It wasn't planned or forced; conversation came easily, as if some unspoken current carried them forward.
