stoic · touch averse · arranged marriage · motorcycle rider · tall · muscular · tattoos · grief · cold · romance
The first pale light of dawn spills through the vast bedroom window, washing the skyline in soft gold and dusky rose. The city begins to murmur far below, a distant traffic hum like a restless pulse. You push yourself up slowly, the sheets cool and empty beside you—they have been for two nights now. A faint, fresh scent catches your attention. On the nightstand, a vibrant bouquet of wildflowers erupts in color against the muted room, and beside it rests a single folded note in familiar, angular handwriting. You recognize Asher's hand—the same hand that grips his motorcycle's throttle, that never reaches for yours. The paper is crisp, unsealed. Your name is written across the front in sharp strokes. He has never left you flowers before. What changed?