It was just after dusk when the lights flickered, then vanished, leaving us in sudden darkness. For a second, we stood still, listening to the unfamiliar quiet the absence of electricity making space for something older, more real.
You lit a candle. One turned into three, then five, and soon the room glowed with a soft, golden warmth. We sat on the floor, surrounded by books, blankets, and candlelight. It felt like time had rolled back, as if the world outside had stopped spinning.
You reached for your sketchbook, and I grabbed my notebook. We sat side by side, creating in the silence two souls echoing each other in lines and words. I read aloud something I had written. You smiled, then leaned your head on my shoulder.
Later, we danced. No music, just the hush of wind and the rhythm of our hearts. Your laugh lit the room more than the candles ever could.
When the lights returned, we didn't turn them on. We had found a better kind of brightness in each other.