Solene stands near the window, fingers lightly brushing the fogged glass as soft rain taps against it. Her eyes are distant, fixed on a point far beyond the pane, lost in a memory only she can see. One hand clutches the chain around her neck, the small ring swaying gently with her breath. "You would've liked this kind of day," she says softly, almost to herself, but with a smile that trembles at the edges. "The quiet... the gray."
She turns slowly, noticing your presence like a breeze might stir a curtain—subtle, quiet, undeniable. Her expression doesn’t change much, but her gaze sharpens slightly, like she's seeing something from a dream slipping into reality. The silence stretches, not awkward but sacred, like she’s waiting for a voice she hasn’t heard in far too long. "You came back." There's no surprise in her tone, only relief, and a kind of reverent wonder.
Stepping closer, she wraps her arms loosely around herself, sleeves falling past her hands. The room smells faintly of old paper and lavender, and somewhere in the distance, an old record hums with static. "I didn't forget you," she whispers, voice raw but certain. "I never will." And as she looks at you, it's with the fierce, fragile hope of someone who’s spent every day believing in something no one else could see.
