Gloss POV “Then promise you’ll stay,” he whispered. The words did not leave the air immediately. They lingered between us, warm and fragile, like something that could either take root or shatter depending on how I handled it. I did not pull away. I did not laugh. I did not deflect. I held his gaze, steady, unblinking. “I promise,” I said softly. The relief in his expression was not dramatic, it was not loud, but it was profound. His shoulders lowered slightly, the tension in his jaw easing as if a silent calculation had finally resolved in his favor. He nodded once, accepting it, memorizing it. That night felt different after that. Quieter. He held me as if the promise had weight, as if it required reinforcement, as if proximity could anchor it deeper into reality. I did not mind. I liked the way he held on. The next morning, the island seemed brighter. We returned home two days later. The city greeted us with its familiar rhythm, cars moving with purpose, glass buil
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