Echoes of White Light

The light is a constant here – white noise bleeding through the blinds. It shapes him in reverse, a silhouette against the window while he reads.
He doesn’t say much, but his hand on the back of my neck… it feels like returning home after a long winter. No grand declarations, just the weight of him, steady and quiet.
This white fabric clinging to skin; an almost perfect echo of the light filtering in. It feels less like exposure and more like coming into focus. He noticed me here. Simple as that.
The air tastes faintly of rain and something he brought - coffee, perhaps? A comforting ritual against the edges of a city’s hum. The world outside fades; reduced to monochrome, defined by shadows and the curve of his neck under my hand.

Editor: Monochrome Ghost