r quieter café meetings. He'd placed it in her palm with a simple, "Try this. Writing should feel like breathing." Since then, it

Not even during the slow hours in the library where she volunteered on weekend

about N

er crossed a line. He never touched her. But the way he looked at her when she read out loud-the still

physical

slower, deeper.

es, the hesitations. He noticed what others didn't. And Juliet wasn't sure if th

-

ifferent café-quieter, dimly lit, tucked between a f

place," he'd said. "You need somewhe

ould help or only make her more awa

y tousled, the top button of his shirt undone. He lo

told a diff

m him, sliding her la

e yet?" s

ng for

s she handed over the manu

y his brow creased when something didn't quite land. The sma

lly, setting the pages down. "There's a vul

ide-and something more

thout worrying w

rs. "Except you

ded with implication. Neith

I wrote it for

wrote it to b

flush crawling up her neck.

ack. "Yes. But most people don't ha

lways did, to literature. Juliet had been rereading The Bell Jar-partly for

, "about how being lonely doesn'

lation in a way few do. The way it curl

for a moment. "Do y

leep. When the house is too quiet. When I finish a good

he private, marrow-deep one. The kind that lingered even in c

pulled out her journal. "Do y

nd cover, then up at her. "Every day

e edge of the table. "You s

darkene

movin

thinking

e knew what was happening, what had been unfolding slowly, session after sessi

e noise of the city just beyond the

e making a mistake

voice steady. "I don't thi

it's

said. "It

-

ts-some sharp and poetic, others clumsy and overwrought. She wanted to impress him, an

he day, the door shut behind them. Nathaniel had offered her a dr

, hesitating on

. "I find it takes

ut the tension

his glass, the way he traced her sentences with one finger before commenting. When he leane

ing loneliness," he mur

live in it more

hen, slowly. Their

, voice low, care

kno

't move. Nei

re everything could have tipped. Where ev

lked to the window. His back

said quietly. "That

," she w

Not cold this tim

d her things.

es softer than she'd

to explain. I know where the lines are

ut waiting for

he exhaled into it, the fog o

She walked. Block after block. Through the dim-lit streets

d out her journal, she did

wr

't need labels. But t