Chapter 28: Between Breath and Touch
The next time they saw each other, the moon was already out.
It hung low and golden, the color of old secrets and candlelight, casting soft shadows on the sidewalk as Anya made her way toward Oriana's house. She carried nothing with her—no books, no flowers, not even her notebook.
Just a feeling she couldn't name.
Oriana had texted her that afternoon.
Come over tonight.
My parents are out.
I want to show you what I've been drawing.
It was the last part that lingered in Anya's mind as she walked beneath the trees, their leaves fluttering like quiet applause above her head. She kept touching her fingers together, rubbing the tips like she was trying to feel something more than just skin.
When Oriana opened the door, she was barefoot, her hair down, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. Her shirt hung loose over her frame, sleeves half-folded, the faint scent of papaya and lavender rising from the warmth of the house behind her.
"You came," she whispered, like it was something sacred.
"Of course," Anya said. "You asked."
Oriana took her hand and led her inside.
The house was quieter than Anya expected. No music, no humming refrigerator, no ticking clocks. Just the hush of light and wood and space.
They went upstairs to Oriana's room.
It was different than Anya imagined. Not messy, but lived in. Walls covered in sketches. A small shelf of poetry books. A string of dried jasmine flowers hanging beside the window. There was a quiet softness to everything. Nothing loud. Nothing performative.
"Sit here," Oriana said, guiding her to the edge of the bed.
She knelt on the floor and opened her sketchbook.
Anya waited, unsure whether she should speak.
Then Oriana turned the page.
And there she was.
Anya. Sketched over and over. Sitting. Laughing. Hiding behind her hands. Looking away. Looking up.
The images weren't perfect, but they breathed.
"This is how I see you," Oriana said. "Not how you see yourself."
Anya stared, her throat tightening.
She didn't know she could look like this—soft, alive, wanted.
"You've been drawing me?" she whispered.
"For weeks," Oriana said. "Maybe longer."
Anya reached out, fingers hovering above the page like she was afraid to smudge herself.
"I never thought I was… worth drawing."
"You're the only thing I want to draw."
They sat in the golden pool of Oriana's reading lamp, surrounded by quiet things: graphite, breath, and the closeness of knees touching.
Anya looked around the room again, more carefully this time.
"How long have you known?" she asked softly.
Oriana didn't pretend not to understand. "Since the day you apologized for smiling at me."
Anya gave a shy laugh. "That was a weird day."
"It was the beginning."
Anya looked at her, suddenly aware of how still everything was—how the outside world had been left at the door, and now there was only this.
Only her.
Only them.
"Can I ask something?" Anya said.
"Anything."
"Why me?"
Oriana leaned back on her palms, eyes on the ceiling for a moment, then returned to her.
"Because you don't fill silence—you honor it," she said. "And when I'm with you, I feel like the parts of me I hide are allowed to breathe."
Anya blinked, heart stuttering in her chest.
"No one's ever said anything like that to me."
"Then they haven't been paying attention."
There was a long pause.
Then Oriana stood up and turned off the lamp.
The room fell into soft shadow, lit only by the moon through the window. Silver light spread across the floor like spilled milk, and in it, Oriana looked ethereal—like something born of dusk and ink.
She held out her hand.
"Dance with me."
Anya stared. "There's no music."
"We'll make our own."
She took her hand.
They stood barefoot on the cool wooden floor, fingers laced, hearts pressed too close together. Anya could hear Oriana's breath, feel her pulse against her wrist.
They swayed.
No rhythm. No steps.
Just motion.
Just feeling.
Oriana rested her head against Anya's shoulder. "You feel like coming home."
Anya didn't answer.
She just held her tighter.
Their movements slowed until they stopped, foreheads touching.
"I've never had this before," Anya whispered. "This kind of safety."
"I want to be your safe place," Oriana replied.
Anya pulled back just enough to see her face.
"I think you already are."
Their lips met again, slower this time. Not hesitant. Not rushed. A kiss full of permission. Full of awareness.
Anya felt her hands tremble slightly against Oriana's sides, but she didn't let go. She didn't pull back.
They kissed like time was folding around them. Like the night had made room for them alone.
When they broke apart, Oriana touched her cheek and smiled.
"Do you want to stay?"
Anya nodded.
"Yes."
Oriana led her gently to the bed. Not rushed. Not suggestive. Just quiet understanding.
They lay side by side, facing each other, fingers tracing the lines of each other's faces.
And in that silence, Anya whispered a single thought.
"I'm not afraid anymore."
"Of what?"
"Of being seen."
Oriana's eyes softened. "You're beautiful when you let yourself be."
They lay like that for hours, saying little.
Breathing the same breath.
Holding the same moment.
The moon moved slowly across the sky, and the house made no sound, and the world outside didn't matter.
In that room, there was no future to worry about.
Only two girls learning how to be soft in each other's arms.
Learning that love didn't need grand declarations or fireworks.
Sometimes, it just needed stillness.
And a place to rest your head where the world couldn't follow.