Giorgio wrapped his jacket around Silvia with movements that spoke of ritual—of something done a thousand times before. He positioned his body as a shield, letting the storm soak through his white shirt until it clung to him like a second skin. She leaned into his arms, her face pale but serene, as though she had orchestrated this moment from the very beginning.
In that instant, I realized I no longer needed confirmation of anything.
He lowered his head and murmured something against her hair. She nodded, soft as a prayer. That focus. That patience. That version of him—
I had never truly possessed it. Perhaps I had never even glimpsed it.
They disappeared into the waiting car. The engine purred to life. Headlights flared like the eyes of some predatory beast, then vanished into the curtain of rain.
He did not look back. Not once.
I stood there until the cold had burrowed so deep into my marrow that I could no longer feel my fingers. Only then did I realize the truth that had been waiting for me all along:
I had nowhere to go.
In the end, I still entered that house.
Inside, warmth pressed against my skin—suffocating, almost obscene in its comfort. I followed the sound of voices down the corridor, arriving just in time to hear him speaking through a door left carelessly ajar.
"You shouldn't have let yourself get soaked like that."
"I knew you would come," Silvia replied, her voice a silk thread in the darkness. "You always come."
I pushed the door open.
The air crystallized in that single second.
"Why did you come in so late?" Giorgio looked at me, and there it was—that flicker of genuine surprise, as though he had forgotten I existed entirely.
"There was no need to rush," I said.
He took an instinctive step toward me, his brow furrowing. "You're completely drenched."
"Don't concern yourself with me." I walked past him, my tone as flat as still water.
His frown deepened, something like offense flickering across his features. "Silvia's constitution is fragile. She cannot endure this kind of weather."
I stopped.
I turned to face him.
"And can I?"
He opened his mouth. No words emerged.
I found it almost amusing. Almost.
"It's fine," I said, nodding slowly. "You don't need to explain anything."