MasukIt felt like a new blossom in the fall—unexpected, fragile, yet quietly determined to live. Slow, peaceful, smooth. The kind of calm that didn’t announce itself loudly but settled into the corners of everyday life, softening sharp edges without anyone noticing when it began.Over the last few weeks, our lives had started getting better. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that I could breathe without bracing myself for the next disaster. Knox looked more like his usual self, despite not remembering who that self had once been. In the beginning, he had inspected everything—every habit, every reaction—as if trying to catch himself in the act of being someone he no longer knew. He would pause mid-action, brows knitting together, eyes distant, and ask whether he used to do things that way.Now, unknowingly, he had become the old version without even realizing it. And I didn’t let him know either.I watched it happen in fragments. In the way his shoulders loosened when he laughe
Violet,My breath hitched when he leaned closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the warmth of him without touching. His hand rose slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to, and then his fingers rested against my cheek. The touch was careful, almost reverent, his thumb brushing just beneath my eye as though he were memorizing my face, every line and shadow.The kiss followed just as gently.It wasn’t rushed or demanding. It was slow and deliberate, as if he needed to understand what this meant before allowing himself anything more. His lips lingered against mine with a quiet intensity that made my chest tighten. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the steady press and release that felt like a test of reality. As though he was grounding himself in something solid, something undeniably real.Cyrus wriggled free from my lap with a small laugh, already distracted by the familiar corner of the room. He ran toward the little tent and the scatter
Violet,It wasn’t as easy as I had convinced myself it would be.Knox grew more uncomfortable around me with each passing day, and every time I noticed it, something sharp twisted in my chest. The smallest things unsettled him. When he reached for a glass, he would pause halfway and glance at me, brows knitting together as if the answer might be written on my face.“Did I use to drink it like this?” he would ask.Or when he laughed at something Cyrus did, the sound would fade too quickly, replaced by uncertainty.“Did I like this before?”It was as though he was studying an invisible script, afraid of stepping off his marks. He watched himself constantly, measuring every reaction, every word, trying to mirror a past he couldn’t see. I saw it in the way his shoulders stiffened when he caught my gaze, in the way his hands curled and uncurled as if rehearsing the right way to exist.I understood that his entire world had been ripped apart and rearranged without warning. Anyone would stru
Knox, Does it call nostalgia? I didn’t know. The moment I walked into the house, a familiar scent hit my nostrils, warm wood, faint chlorine drifting in from the pool, something citrusy layered with old paper and detergent. It wrapped around me before I could react. I paused just inside the doorway, fingers curling slightly at my sides, my chest tightening for reasons I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was worse than that. It was quiet. Persistent. Like a memory knocking from the inside without permission to enter. The house was small compared to the penthouse. But it felt right. The floor didn’t echo under my steps. The air didn’t feel cold or staged. It felt like a place where people argued, laughed, slept badly, and woke up better. “ You used to live here.” Violet’s voice had been calm, almost gentle. She stood near the hallway, one hand resting against the wall as if grounding herself. “ In one of those rooms,” she added, nodding down the corridor. “ We were bes
Violet,It took around eight to nine hours to arrive in the USA. Somewhere between the steady hum of the jet and the muted conversations drifting in and out of consciousness, the tension that had clung to us earlier began to loosen its grip.After my conversation with Erica, something shifted.She didn’t hover around Knox the way she had before. There was no anxious watching, no subtle attempts to stay close to him at all times. Instead, she spent most of the remaining flight with Cyrus. She sat beside him on the floor at one point, helping him arrange his toys, laughing softly when he insisted on doing things his own way. The tightness in her shoulders was gone. She looked lighter. More present.Watching that eased something inside me.Knox eventually retreated to my personal room for a quick nap. He looked utterly exhausted, the kind of tiredness that came not just from lack of sleep but from carrying too much awareness all at once. I had offered to stay with him, but he shook his h
Violet, After the conversation with Mirah tapered into silence, I stayed seated for a while, letting the weight of her words settle. She had leaned back, eyes closed, exhaustion finally overtaking anger. I didn’t move immediately. Some emotions needed space to breathe before they could be left alone. When I finally stood, that was when I noticed her. Erica was standing a few steps away, near the narrow passage that led toward the private section of the jet. Julia had been talking to Mark about Cyrus. How long had she been standing there? She hadn’t announced herself. She hadn’t interrupted. She was just there, hands clasped together, shoulders slightly hunched, as if she had been unsure whether she was allowed to exist in that space. Her expression stopped me. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t angry either. It was something quieter. Sadness mixed with hesitation, the kind that comes from watching a moment you were never meant to witness. I softened my voice. “Erica. What's w







