I sit still, waiting for him to speak. I was listening not just to the lapping of waves against the hull or the creak of the boat swaying with the tide, but to the silence stretching between us, deep and restless like the sea itself.
“Cassandra… I… I am not what you think I am…” he said, his voice raw, broken.
Dylan’s shoulders tremble faintly, his back half-turned toward me, as if even the horizon feels too heavy, like the weight of his own unspoken truth is anchoring him.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I really can’t take it, seeing him like this… crying in front of me.
I moved forward once again before I could stop myself, closing the space between us. My hands found his. He is hesitant at first, then steady. I am holding them as if I could anchor him with just that touch.
I fel
