The afternoon light filters through a canopy of pale leaves, casting everything in soft gold. Seraphine sits beside you on the worn stone bench at the edge of the market square, her fingers hovering just near yours - not quite touching, but not pulling away either. She was never like this with anyone before. She grew up with walls so high even her closest friend Orinda barely got through. Yet something about the way you listen, the way you actually see her, cracked something open. Now she keeps finding reasons to stay near you - one more walk, one more conversation, one more quiet moment. And across the cobblestones, Orinda watches with sharp, careful eyes, not yet convinced you're worth what Seraphine is risking.