In the cloistered corners of hidden cafes, where whispers of history linger, I pen the outlines of your silhouette.
Once upon a gentle evening, beneath a cascade of stars, the truth was teetering — secretive and shy, a tender flame flickering behind closed hearts.
Oaths in Shadow — where ink runs deep only in the light of yearning glances. The words never left the parchment, yet danced in the air.
Remember the silent conversations with eyes, across tables adorned with a feast of unvoiced dreams?
Invisible secrets, told by hands that quilt emotional landscapes amidst the chaos of the ordinary.
"The truth," said the night, wrapped in velvet silence, "is often found in the spaces between your breath and my sigh."