Desimaal 69
The evening air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, a perfume that mirrored the sweet anticipation coiling within her. She stood by the window, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin with every slight, nervous shift of her body. When the familiar creak of the door finally broke the silence, her heart leapt, a frantic bird against her ribs. He entered, his gaze a tangible warmth that swept over her, erasing the distance between them in an instant. His hands, familiar and sure, found the curve of her waist, pulling her into an embrace that felt like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she melted against him, her forehead resting gently on his shoulder, all waiting dissolved into pure presence. The world narrowed to this single room, to the language of their intertwined fingers and the soft murmur of shared secrets breathed into the quiet space between them. Every glance was a promise, every tender touch a silent conversation that spoke of a deep, abiding connection. In the dim light, their shadows danced as one on the wall, a single, fluid shape moving to a rhythm only they could hear. This was not a beginning, but a continuation of a story written in every shared glance and every quiet understanding. And in that perfect, suspended moment, nothing existed but the two of them, utterly lost and completely found in each other.
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