Silent love

The fire had burned down to embers, the kind that glowed instead of crackled, as if even it were listening.

Maeve sat with her knees drawn to her chest, watching the light dance along the stone walls. Silas stood nearby at first, restless as always, until finally he sat beside her. Close enough that their shoulders brushed. Close enough that neither of them moved away.

He exhaled, slow. Steadying himself.

“Maeve,” he said, quietly. Not the way he said her name when there were others around. This was softer. Careful. “There’s something I need to ask you before courage abandons me.”

She turned to him, her expression unreadable but gentle. “Then ask,” she said. “Before it does.”

Silas swallowed. His hands were rough, scarred, but when he reached for hers it was tentative—like he was afraid she might vanish if he held on too tightly.

“I don’t know how long this will last,” he admitted. “The world is… unkind to things like us. And I can’t promise you safety or certainty or forever.”

Maeve’s fingers tightened around his.

“But I can promise this,” he continued, voice thick but steady. “Even if it’s only for a short time, I will mean more than you will ever know. Every moment with you will matter to me. Every laugh, every quiet second like this one.”

He finally looked at her then, really looked—like the answer already lived in her eyes.

“So,” he said, barely above a whisper, “will you be my girlfriend? Just… us. Whatever time we’re given.”

Maeve smiled—not bright, not dramatic, but real. The kind of smile that felt like choosing something brave.

She leaned her forehead against his. “Yes,” she said. “Even for a short time.”

Silas closed his eyes, relief and wonder washing over him.

And for that moment—no matter what waited beyond the firelight—it was enough.