Not held.
Maintained.
That matters.
I reach her space without hesitation, the door already responding to my approach, sliding open with a soft sound that doesn’t disrupt the quiet inside.
She’s where I expect her to be.
Of course she is.
“You’re getting predictable,” I say as I step in.
She doesn’t look up immediately, her fingers still moving across the surface of whatever she’s working on, the texture catching the light in shifting patterns.
“Or you’re finally paying attention,” she replies.
I step further into the room, letting the door close behind me.
“That too,” I say.
She glances up then, her gaze settling on me, steady, calm, something in it that hasn’t changed and doesn’t need to.
“It’s holding,” I say.
“I know,” she replies.
“You didn’t even ask,” I add.
“I didn’t need to,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Confident,” I say.
“In the system,” she replies.
I step closer, stopping just in front of her.
“And in us?” I ask.
She studies me for a moment.
“Yes,” she says.
That lands exactly where it needs to.
I let out a slow breath, something easing in my chest in a way that doesn’t feel like release, but like… confirmation.
“It’s different,” I say.
“Yes,” she agrees.
“Better,” I add.
“Yes.”
I glance around the room, at the pieces she’s created, at the space that exists because she chose to make it exist.
