My breath catches. Quiet love story.
"Maybe they are," I reply, my voice barely a whisper.
We sit there, just the two of us, while the world fades into shadow and silver. And in that silence, I let myself believe that maybe you see me too. That maybe, just maybe, this is a love story the stars will remember.
As the hours slip by, you turn to me, your gaze soft and unreadable. "You're quiet," you say.
"Because I'm afraid I'll ruin this moment if I speak," I admit.
You don't laugh. Instead, you reach out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You couldn't ruin anything."