Chapter 279
Below, a simple skirt could be seen, its length reaching the knees or slightly below, falling straight and following the contour of the mattress beneath it.
The skirt had no striking pleats or decorative details, merely a piece of fabric fulfilling its function in quiet elegance.
There were no accessories adorning her at all.
No necklace, no bracelet, no earrings to draw the eye away.
She was not even wearing socks, allowing her feet—perhaps just as pale—to touch the still air of the silent room directly.
Her long white hair, silky like spun light, was left loose, a few strands scattered carelessly across the pillow against which she leaned.
The neatness usually attached to her seemed deliberately abandoned, creating the impression of someone who had lowered her guard and allowed herself to relax in a space she deemed safe, or perhaps someone too emotionally exhausted to care about order.
"Does my presence here still make you uncomfortable?"
The scene fixed itself in Theo's mind like a diorama too perfect to touch.
Every detail—from the soft fall of the sweater's fabric, the spill of silver hair, to the absolute focus on the pages of the book—formed an image of tranquility that felt almost divine.
Yet within that absolute calm, Theo's primitive instincts caught something else.
A subtle vibration in the air.
A coldness that did not come from the night, but from an emotional distance that had suddenly crystallized.
Aldraya's calm did not feel like peace.
It felt like the surface of a lake freezing instantly, trapping beneath it a powerful current of disappointment and anger with no outlet.
Theo could feel it.
An undeniable hostility, faint yet real like the scent of old iron, filled the gaps of silence in his room.
It was the residue of his rejection, a cold wound that had not healed and now radiated quietly.
Theo's very presence in the room suddenly felt like a transgression.
He was the source of that coldness, the bearer of disappointment now standing stiffly by the door, disrupting the composition of calm Aldraya had created atop his bed.
The contrast between his own turbulent fragility and Aldraya's hostile serenity created a tension that was nearly unbearable.
He felt like an intruder in his own room.
An uninvited spectator to a private display of endurance.
The urge to break the stillness finally became too strong to resist.
Theo's voice broke through, tearing the thick veil of silence.
It might have sounded hoarse, or perhaps unnaturally clear in the isolated space.
His question was not a casual greeting.
It was not the beginning of light conversation.
It was a critique of the situation itself.
A direct acknowledgment of the discomfort surrounding them.
With words chosen carefully—or perhaps spilled out by anxiety—Theo asked whether Aldraya still felt uneasy about his presence in the room.
The question admitted that the space might no longer be neutral.
That Theo's existence itself could be a source of discomfort.
And that the calm he witnessed might merely be a mask for something simmering beneath.
"Uncomfortable. But not disturbed."
The silence thickened, becoming almost tangible in the air between them.
Eight sheets of paper whispered softly, one after another, turning beneath Aldraya's pale fingers.
Each movement followed a measured, deliberate rhythm, like a ritual meant to stall for time or gather scattered fragments of thought.
The sound of the pages filled the emptiness, louder than any other noise in the sealed room.
The reading lamp caught microscopic dust motes drifting through the air, dancing briefly in golden light before vanishing into the shadow where Theo stood frozen.
He watched with a racing heart, each page turn striking him like a gong, marking the slow retreat of distance between them.
At last, Aldraya lifted her gaze.
Her eyes, usually cold and unreadable, reflected the lamplight, creating a mysterious depth.
Her gaze did not go straight to Theo.
Instead, it swept across the room—from the cluttered bookshelf to the scattered papers on the desk—as if reading stories from the objects themselves.
Only after that silent survey did her gaze settle on the young man standing in the doorway.
There was no emotional eruption.
No tears pooling.
Only a flat admission.
A statement delivered in such a neutral tone that it cut all the deeper.
She acknowledged her discomfort, yet denied that Theo's presence was a disturbance.
It was a paradox that gently revealed her inner conflict.
Wounded, yet still striving to maintain her own boundaries and dignity within what should have been her place of refuge.
'She isn't resisting at all.'
Theo's steps moved almost soundlessly over the carpet, driven by an impulse born from deep guilt and burning longing.
He saw that half-hearted indifference.
An apathy that hurt far more than outright rejection.
Before rational thought could freeze his movement, he was already beside the bed.
With extreme care, as though approaching a skittish, rare creature, his hands slid beneath Aldraya's arms and back.
He lifted the silver-haired girl gently, feeling how light and compliant her body was in his hold, as if she lacked the strength—or the will—to resist.
Aldraya was raised, her bare feet touching the floor as she allowed herself to be seated briefly at the edge of the bed while Theo took her place.
With the same natural motion, Theo lay down on the spot that still held Aldraya's warmth and the faint indentation of her body.
Her soft scent mingled with the smell of old books, lingering faintly in the air.
Then, without a word of command or request, Aldraya moved.
She turned her body, and with complete passive acceptance, let herself fall back down—this time atop Theo's prone form.
Her light weight spread across his chest and abdomen.
Physically easy to bear.
Emotionally, as heavy as a mountain.
Aldraya did not adjust her position.
She did not seek comfort.
She simply allowed herself to be supported, like a limp cloth doll.
The book, still open in her hands, now rested on Theo's chest.
Her eyes returned to the same page, as if nothing had changed.
As if the body beneath her were nothing more than an inanimate chair back.
"Forty minutes in silence. Too long if you only came to check on me.
Is that all you meant by coming here—making sure I wasn't trapped in anger? Or are you beginning to doubt your own stubborn resolve?"
Forty minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sound of turning pages and the steady breathing of the two of them.
Theo did not move from his position, enduring as a quiet support for Aldraya's slack body resting upon him.
His legs stretched awkwardly across the bed, a posture that should have been uncomfortable, yet he felt no complaint.
There was a form of atonement in this small physical discomfort.
A silent devotion he offered to spread calm amid the emotional waves he suspected were raging within her.
He observed every subtle movement of Aldraya.
From the faint crease in her brow when she concentrated.
To the restless way her fingers traced the edges of the pages.
To be continued…