The gentleman in the fine tweed suit raises his eyebrow, a subtle crescendo under his bowler hat.
The lady across, smiling behind delicate curls—the clink of china fills the void like whispers of lost letters. As the steam entwines, so does their intrigue.
He pours the tea with a grace unseen, a tidal wave settles in the porcelain, and as the liquid stills, so do they stare. Each gesture narrates a thousand subtitles.
Between sips, the world engages in a waltz of silences. Her laughter is an unseen ripple, his nod a world promised without words.
They are wrapped in the warmth of silence. And thus, speak volumes over a shared bursary of nothing.
As the scene fades to black, the aroma of their moment lingers. A secret casts its own haunting shadow on eternity.