Nova's POV
There's just something about the way Eldur looks at me.
Not in a casual, passing kind of way—like most people do when they're halfway listening. No, when Eldur looks at me, it's intense. Like I'm a story he's read a hundred times but still finds new details in every time. Like I'm the twist in the plot no one saw coming—but he always knew I was there.
Honestly, that look alone could've powered me through the entire week. No coffee needed.
I was happily living on cloud nine.
That evening after work, Eldur and I were locking up the bookstore—our usual dance: keys jingling, lights flicking off, the smell of old pages clinging to our jackets. The evening sun spilled gold across the sidewalk, covering everything in that dreamy kind of light that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—something magical's about to happen.
And then Eldur paused. Just… stopped, like the moment was suddenly too loud.
