{"Some loves are carved in fire, but ours was built in the quiet, beneath stars and whispered promises, where even the smallest heartbeat could echo forever."}
The morning after the storm passed, the island felt strangely hushed. Tor was down at the cove, shirtless and bronze under the sun, hacking at driftwood like it had personally offended him. I watched him from the half-finished frame of our home, fingers pressed lightly to my stomach. The flutter was still faint, no stronger than a ripple in still water, but it was there.
I did not hear her arrive; I felt her as the air shifted. A subtle tension pulled at my bones, like the moment before lightning strikes, still, electric, ancient. I stood slowly, instinctively bracing a hand against the doorframe. My heart knew her before my eyes did.
"Qadira," I whispered.
