CHAPTER LV
"The Night We Forgot the War"
That night — for the first time in what felt like forever — we weren't running.
We weren't hiding.
We weren't fighting for our lives.
We were simply… living.
The long tables were filled with food we hadn't tasted in years — warm bread, cooked vegetables, real spices, even dessert. It wasn't just survival food — it was good food. Comforting. Familiar. Like something from a life we all barely remembered.
I could see it in everyone's faces — the way their eyes softened, their shoulders relaxed, their hands stopped gripping invisible weapons.
Laughter returned.
So did color.
After dinner, music played low through the hidden speakers in the ceiling — something jazzy, old-school, the kind of music meant to melt away years of pain in a single note. Looka was the first to stand up, surprising everyone when he extended a hand toward Elisa with a dramatic bow.
She rolled her eyes at him, laughing, but took his hand anyway.
And just like that, they began to dance.
Clumsy, at first.
But beautiful.
Mahi watched with a grin, then nudged Aarvi with her elbow. Aarvi raised a brow — always the cautious one — but after a moment, she gave in. The two of them joined the tiny dance floor too, their movements more graceful, like they had done this before.
I stood quietly near the wall, sipping water, lost in the warmth of the moment — when I felt her eyes on me.
Mon.
Our gazes locked across the room.
No words.
Just a feeling.
An old, familiar gravity pulling us back toward each other.
She smiled — hesitant but real — and walked toward me, her hand held out like a silent question.
I didn't hesitate.
I took it.
And as the music swelled, we stepped into rhythm.
Her palm against mine.
My hand on her waist.
Her head gently leaning closer as we moved in slow, steady circles.
No one else mattered anymore.
Not the war outside.
Not the lies we hadn't told.
Not the ghosts in our hearts.
Just us.
Dancing.
Two souls trying to remember what it felt like to be whole.
We kept moving even after the others had gone quiet. The food was finished, the music softened, and one by one, they disappeared — drifting to their rooms, to dreams, to exhaustion.
But Mon and I stayed.
Our feet moved in sync.
Our breaths mingled.
And somewhere between the steps and the silence, the words came — softly spoken, full of longing:
> "Sometimes," she whispered, "the heart wants what it was never allowed to have."
I met her eyes, my voice thick with emotion as I replied:
> "It wants to taste what's forbidden… like sinking into almond cream on a winter night."
She let out a shaky breath, almost a laugh.
Then I added:
> "Whether it's right or wrong… I don't care anymore. I just know I want it. I want you."
She didn't answer in words.
She didn't have to.
Because her grip on my hand tightened. Her head rested softly against my chest.
And we kept dancing.
Even when the music faded.
Even when the lights dimmed.
Even when the world felt far, far away.
There were no bullets.
No enemies.
No betrayals.
Just two people holding each other in the silence — choosing, for one fleeting night, to believe in something softer.
Something tender.
Something that could never survive in a world like ours…
But was still worth dreaming of.
> That night, we forgot the war.
That night, we remembered what love felt like.
And for just a little while… that was enough.
"Where Silence Holds Our Names"
The music outside faded long ago, but the rhythm between us hadn't.
As we danced slowly under the dim golden light of the hallway, I found myself lost in her eyes — soft, open, holding a million memories we had never spoken of. The world outside didn't exist anymore. There were no enemies, no guilt, no buried secrets — not tonight.
Just her and me.
Just this moment.
Without saying a word, I bent down slightly, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. Mon let out a surprised breath, smiling against my shoulder as I lifted her into my arms.
She didn't resist.
She held on.
As if she trusted me… completely.
I carried her through the quiet corridors, past the flickering lights and the empty halls, until we reached our room. The one D had given me — the one that somehow knew I would need her beside me.
I pushed the door open with my foot, stepping inside as the door clicked shut behind us. The room welcomed us with its warm light and soft stillness. Gently, I laid her down on the edge of the bed, her hair spilling over the pillow like a silk curtain.
She looked up at me — breathless, glowing, like something more than real.
Something sacred.
Her dress shimmered in the light, too heavy for her small frame, and I leaned forward, slowly reaching for the back clasp — careful, patient. Not to rush. Not to assume.
But just as my fingers brushed the fabric, her hand caught mine.
I looked at her.
And in that moment… she moved closer.
Without fear.
Without hesitation.
She rested her head gently on my chest, her arms slipping around me like she had always belonged there — like she had always known this was where she'd find peace.
Then she whispered, her voice trembling with softness:
> "Let me stay here. Just like this. Listening to your heartbeat. Over and over again, until I forget the sound of my own name."
I wrapped my arms around her tighter.
Not possessive.
Not desperate.
Just… home.
> "It's still us," I said quietly. "Like before. Like all those conversations we used to lose ourselves in."
She smiled, her cheek still against my chest, as I slowly stroked her hair.
And in the silence, in the closeness, in the warmth we had almost forgotten how to feel — I whispered the words that had lived in me since the day I met her:
> "Let the winds carry us away. Far, far away…
To a world where there are no battles to fight.
Just the warmth of your gaze… and the sound of your breath."
She closed her eyes as if dreaming with them open.
And then I added, with a smile in my voice:
> "And when I look at you, I still blush.
Like we've built a whole new world in our silence…
A world only we can live in."
In that room, wrapped in dim light and soft sighs, we didn't need more than this.
Not touch.
Not promises.
Just presence.
Just knowing we were still here.
Still us.
Even after everything the world had taken from us.
> And as the night held its breath around us, we slept —
Not as soldiers. Not as survivors.
But simply as two souls who had finally found their way back home.
Even if just for a night.
"Let This Night Stay Forever"
As the warmth of the room wrapped around us like a soft embrace, I gently pulled Mon closer — wrapping my arms around her in a way that wasn't just a hug…
It was a prayer.
A plea.
A silent wish to stop time.
Because after everything we had survived… after all the pain, the broken pieces, the distance, and the things left unsaid… we had finally found this fragile moment of peace. And I couldn't bear the thought of letting it slip away.
I held her carefully — like she was something rare, something the world had no right to touch again. Her breath warmed the hollow of my neck, her fingers curled lightly against my chest. I could feel the rhythm of her heart, steady and soft — like it was finally safe to beat without fear.
> If death were to come for me tonight,
I would welcome it without regret —
Because at least, I would go holding her.
I closed my eyes, gently pressing my forehead to hers.
And in that sacred silence, I whispered the words I had always buried, the ones I had once been too afraid to speak:
> "If ever I'm taken from this world… if ever you see me slipping away — let me say this before I go:
Let me carry the burden of this love.
Let me feel this ache… this sweetness… this pain — all of it.
Let me stay sheltered in your eyelashes, hidden in the comfort of your gaze.
I've fallen in love with you, Mon.
And if it costs me everything… then so be it."
I felt her breathing hitch slightly — not out of shock, not out of fear — but something gentler. Something deeper. She didn't speak, not right away.
But she didn't need to.
Because her body responded where words could not.
She shifted closer, tucking herself into me like she was meant to be there. Like that space between my arms had always belonged to her. She didn't pull away. She didn't question. She just stayed.
And that was her answer.
> For the rest of the night, I held her — never loosening my grip, never letting go.
Not out of fear of losing her.
But because for the first time… I didn't have to be strong.
I could just be… hers.
Her hand found mine beneath the blanket, fingers entwining softly, securely — like a quiet vow passed between souls. No promises. No future plans. Just a shared truth that didn't need to be spoken:
> We survived.
We found each other again.
And tonight… that is enough.
The world outside didn't matter.
The secrets.
The sins.
The storm that waited just beyond these walls.
For a few stolen hours… there was no war.
No ghosts.
No guilt.
Only two people — curled together beneath the weight of memory, pain, and love — breathing as one.
> And as sleep took her first, her body relaxing into mine like a whispered trust, I stayed awake a little longer.
Watching her.
Memorizing her.
Holding on.
Because if this was all fate would give me…
Then I'd make this night last forever.
To be continued…