Beautiful sat on her bed, tears streaking her cheeks. She clutched the handbag he’d made, pressed tight to her heart. She wanted to go to his room—to apologize. But what would she even say? She had counted every day. It had been exactly seven. She couldn’t wait another.
She opened the door, stepped into the hall… then stopped.
No. She would wait.
***
Seeker paced his room, back and forth, back and forth. He couldn’t think—couldn’t even read. The list sat on the table, untouched. He had a hundred—no, a thousand—reasons to love her. And not one written down.
He opened the lid of the music box and let the melody spill into the silence. It had been a week. He missed her. Desperately. How was he going to last a month?
He reached for the door. He’d go to her. Say he was sorry. But for what? Loving her?
He paused, hand on the handle. She’d said a month.
