173. What We Speak Aloud

Nova

The coffee has gone lukewarm by the time I realize I haven’t taken a sip in minutes and the cup of cappuccino has already thawed as I took too long to drink it.

Roman sits across from me, hands loosely folded on the small round table between us, posture attentive but not rigid. He looks… older. Not in a diminished way, if anything, there’s a quiet gravity to him now, as though time carved something steadier into his bones. The sharp edges are still there, but ...