Nevertheless, I follow Noah to his car. As we drive toward the sunset together, his hand rests on my thigh. His thumb gently caresses the fabric of my jeans, leaving nothing but warmth behind. I should resist, but my eyes lazily close. For a moment, I wish to simply savor the evening with him. To not have to ask any questions or think about answers.
"We're here," I hear Noah's deep, soft voice say suddenly. His hand releases my thigh and finds my cheek.
I lift my eyelids and see his face close to mine. My gaze briefly flickers to his lips, and I'm captivated.
There's no other way. I have to kiss this man, to lose myself in his presence and feel the comfort he gives me. This addiction controls me. It always has, and thanks to him, it's stronger today than ever before.
Seconds pass, or maybe minutes. I don't know; my sense of time no longer functions. But when Noah pulls away breathlessly, darkness has already settled around us.
"Come with me," he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
I hesitantly step out of the car. "There's nothing here." Nothing but gnarled, resin-scented trees. What surprise could possibly be waiting for me here?
He reaches out his hand toward me. "Come on." I notice a multifunctional backpack on his back. Surely, he doesn't intend for us to go hiking in the middle of the night?
Lost in thought, I interlace my fingers with his and walk beside him. My gaze keeps drifting toward him and the mysterious smile on his lips. "How much farther is it?"
"Our destination is just around the next bend," he replies, picking up the pace.
I follow suit, but when we arrive, I still don’t see anything but trees. Very funny.
Just as my doubts start creeping back up within me, Noah stands behind me. A pleasant warmth spreads across my entire back. "Look up," he whispers in my ear.
I follow his instruction, and what I see almost takes my breath away. "A tree house," I whisper in awe. And what a tree house it is! It looks like a small chalet suspended in the air, with a sun terrace and artistically decorated shutters.
Noah must have built it. I'm sure of it.
I feel him shaking his head against my cheek. "Not a treehouse," he says, sounding suddenly sad. "An observatory."
I can't help but hold my breath. I realize that now is the moment to ask my questions. I snuggle closer to him, reaching for his arms and wrapping them around my waist. "You built it for Julian." I struggle to control my voice.
Noah doesn't react. Perhaps because he doesn't know what to say. Silently, he releases me and directs me to the gracefully curved staircase that leads upward. I follow him to the platform on which the observatory is built, wait until he opens the door, and step inside.
Over the entire floor area of the room, a glass dome adorns, granting a view of the sky. Next, my eyes fall upon the two dusty telescopes. They look expensive, devices that only professionals would use. Beside them, there is a desk. Julian must have positioned his laptop there. Several books are stacked on it, one dangerously close to the edge. It's open, as if someone had just been reading from it. Maps hang on the walls, unreadable to me, along with notes containing dates and coordinates. Additionally, I spot extensive camera equipment on one of the half-height cabinets on the opposite wall.
This isn't just an ordinary observatory. It's a small research center.
"Wow," I say as I explore the room. I discover a miniature kitchen and a worn-out sofa bed. Everything is here. Only a dining table is missing.
How many nights did Julian spend up here? Was he searching for unknown stars or novel phenomena?
I'm certain his interest in the universe went far beyond that of a hobby astronomer. "So he was a scientist," I murmur absentmindedly to myself.
"He worked on his dissertation here," Noah says, his voice breaking.
Without turning to face him, I stroll through the room, trying to control my breath. "Did you help him?" I have no idea if that's the right question to delvedeeper into the conversation. But I don't have any other.
"Oh God, no." He chuckles throatily. "I didn't even understand the topic of his doctoral thesis."
I stop and direct my gaze upward to the sky beyond the glass dome. "Thank you for showing me this." I can imagine how difficult it must be for him. If I were to blame for the death of my best friend, I would avoid everything that reminded me of him. And I certainly wouldn't bring anyone here.
He doesn't respond, presumably just standing stiffly at the other end of the room.
What does this mean? Nervously, I knead my fingers. "You must miss him a lot."
I receive no answer. Should I venture further?
"What happened to him?" The words leave my mouth without sound, yet each one feels like a bomb detonating right in the observatory.
