Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The fading afternoon sun cast long, golden fingers across the room, gilding the dust motes that danced in the silent air. He stood by the window, a silhouette against the dying light, and his gaze when it found hers was a tangible warmth. She felt her breath catch, a soft hitch in her throat as he slowly crossed the space between them. His fingers, when they finally brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, were not demanding but questioning, a whisper against her skin. A shiver traced the path of his touch, radiating down her spine like a secret she had always kept just for him. The world narrowed to this single, suspended moment, the air thick with the scent of old books and his faint, clean cologne. He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against hers, and in that quiet connection, she felt the unspoken words pass between them. Her hand rose to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his heart answering the frantic flutter of her own. It was a language of pauses and shared breaths, a slow, deliberate dance of anticipation. In the quiet intimacy of that room, they were not two people, but a single, yearning question waiting to be answered.
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