ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, golden shadows across the library, gilding the dust motes dancing in the still air. He stood by the tall window, his silhouette a study of quiet intensity, and when he turned, his gaze was a tangible warmth that seeped into my very soul. My breath caught as he slowly closed the distance, the only sound the soft rustle of his clothing and the frantic beat of my own heart. His fingers, when they finally brushed against my cheek, were surprisingly gentle, tracing the line of my jaw with a reverence that made my eyes sting with unshed tears. I leaned into his touch, a silent surrender, as his other hand came to rest on the small of my back, drawing me into the safe harbor of his embrace. The scent of old books and his subtle cologne wrapped around us, an intoxicating perfume that belonged only to this moment. Our foreheads touched, and in that breathless space, the entire world narrowed to the feeling of his steadying presence. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of sorrow, but of a profound, aching relief, as if I had finally arrived home after a long and weary journey. He whispered my name, and it was not a word, but a caress that settled deep within my bones. In that suspended, perfect silence, I knew our story had truly just begun.
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