After the Feathers
“Peace isn’t silence — it’s the sound of you still breathing next to me.”
Feathers were still floating in the air — proof of a battle no one meant to win. Lola’s laughter spilled into the room, bright and unstoppable, until she fell onto the pillows — and I followed, half laughing, half breathless.
For a heartbeat, the world was only warmth and the sound of us — breath tangled with breath, coffee cooling somewhere out of reach.
"Truce?" she asked, voice soft, lips trembling with a smile. I answered without words — pulling her closer, until the air between us forgot how to stay still.
Peace didn’t come after the chaos. It came through it — through laughter, through the touch that quiets every thought, through the slow rhythm of two storms learning how to rest in each other.
