Selene's/Atasha's POV;
There was something about Antonio that didn't sit within the lines of ordinary—like he carried shadows behind his smiles and secrets stitched between his words. The way he looked at the world wasn't like the others; his eyes searched for meaning in silences and stared too long at the sky as if it reminded him of something—or someone. And yet, he never spoke about his past. Not even when I mentioned mine. That first day, after he rescued me from those dogs and laughed like the weight of the world didn't pull at his shoulders, I saw it—the flicker of sorrow in his expression that vanished the second I smiled. It was like watching a man build walls with charm and laughter while trying not to drown in something unseen. I was drawn to him, helplessly so, but I couldn't shake the feeling that behind his kindness, behind our shared love for art and dreams, there was something he wasn't telling me. Something that clung to his silence. Something waiting.
From the moment he stepped into my life—messy, sudden, like fate had tripped and landed him at my feet—I knew Antonio wasn't like the others. His charm wasn't loud, it was haunting; like an echo from a past life I hadn't lived but somehow remembered. That day he saved me from the street dogs, I thought it was just coincidence. But the way he appeared—calm, calculating, yet kind—was too perfect, too precise. Ever since, I'd found myself questioning everything. His laugh never reached his eyes, his words sometimes felt rehearsed, like he was trying to be someone—someone acceptable. And though he talked about his dreams and asked about mine, he carefully danced around his own past. There were no mentions of childhood stories, no photos in his wallet, and no trace of where he had come from—just vague answers and quick subject changes. But the strangest part? He always seemed to know more about me than I ever told him. He'd comment on things I liked without me mentioning them, show up in places I never said I'd be. I wanted to ask, to demand the truth, but something in me held back—as if some deeper part of my soul knew that asking would change everything. Still, the mystery of him wrapped around my thoughts like vines, pulling me deeper into a story I wasn't sure I was ready to read—but couldn't stop turning the pages of.