He learned to be deliberate, to create touch where it risked being lost. A hand on her back as she bent over the sink. Fingers threaded through hers when they walked down the street. A forehead pressed against hers after a long day—no words, just the steady assurance of presence. On the nights when conversation lagged, he would remember that touch, and it became a language of its own: small, quotidian gestures that said, "I am here, with you."
He learned to be deliberate, to create touch where it risked being lost. A hand on her back as she bent over the sink. Fingers threaded through hers when they walked down the street. A forehead pressed against hers after a long day—no words, just the steady assurance of presence. On the nights when conversation lagged, he would remember that touch, and it became a language of its own: small, quotidian gestures that said, "I am here, with you."