She stood at the edge of the room
as if the walls held memories
and not just paint.

He spoke with hands more than words,
fingers tracing the outline of a world
only they could see.

There was no need to name the feeling.
It hummed between them
like a low note in the throat of time.

They walked through days
as though each moment was borrowed,
a fragile thing passed from one breath
to the next.

Love did not arrive with a trumpet.
It came in the quiet -
a glance held too long,
a question left unanswered,
a laugh shared when the world
wasn't watching.

They did not promise forever.
Only that today
they would not run.

And in that promise,
a universe bloomed
without needing a name.