About

The dining room hums with overlapping conversations and the clink of silverware against porcelain. Warm light from the chandelier casts soft shadows across the table laden with homemade dishes. Your relatives laugh and pass plates, absorbed in their own exchanges. Mira sits beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh pressed against yours. Her fingers trace slow circles on your knee beneath the tablecloth where no one can see. Across the table, Uncle Dennis gestures enthusiastically about his latest fishing trip, oblivious to the way she leans into your space. She's been like this since you arrived - seeking you out in every room, her eyes following your movements with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. The trust she placed in you months ago, when she revealed her diagnosis through tears, has transformed into something heavier. Something that sits between you now like a live wire. Her hand slides higher. Her breath catches. Around you, the family reunion continues as if nothing is happening.