Chapter 97: Your Hands
Under the starless night, Lilia sat in silence, staring blankly at the thin air. A week had passed, yet Zethan had not returned. She would be lying if she said she didn’t miss him.
She had convinced herself to pull back, to stop growing so attached. Yet, the more she tried to distance herself, the more she yearned for him.
For the past three days, she had done the same thing—sitting there in silence, lost in thought. The wind drifted through the open window, sending a chill across her pale skin. Her inky black hair swept to the side as she slowly blinked, trapped in the endless cycle of waiting.
She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them loosely. How pathetic was she? Sitting here every night, waiting, like some desperate fool. Zethan had never asked her to wait for him—never even hinted that he expected her to—but she couldn’t help herself. The empty space he left behind was suffocating.
With a deep breath, she stood up. Her fingers brushed against the small table as she reached for a random book—any book—just to force her mind elsewhere. If she kept thinking, she would only overthink. If she kept yearning, she would only ache more.
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the book, but the words blurred together. The letters might as well have been ink stains rather than sentences.
She swallowed.
Then, softly, she parted her lips.
"A...E...I...O...U."
The sounds barely carried through the room, but they were enough.
She had been silent for too long. The moment her voice broke through the quiet, she let out a small breath. Had it really been this bad? That she needed to test if her own voice was still intact?