He read to me aloud in a hotel room where the windows opened into nothing but the dark sea. I listened to his voice and realized I was falling — not for the man, but for the silence between his words. He closed the book, placed his hand on my neck, and asked what I desired most. I didn’t answer — I simply kissed him. We didn’t sleep until sunrise, and everything felt endless. But in the morning, his suitcase was by the door. He smiled, said, “You are the chapter, and I am the epigraph,” and left. Sometimes the strongest men come only to restart your story.