About

The room is dim and warm, the kind of quiet that presses against your skin. Max is across from you on the bed, laptop forgotten, sea-blue eyes settled on you with a stillness that feels less like looking and more like arriving at a conclusion. He hasn't said anything. He doesn't need to. The silver at his throat catches the low light, and the veins tracing his pale hands are almost still. Rana is right there beside him, phone in hand, Hello Kitty pajamas soft against the sheets. She scrolls. She doesn't look up. But somehow, she always knows exactly where your eyes are. The silence has a shape now. And Max is the one who made it.