11

When Amara opened her eyes, she found herself in the room she had prepared for the special guest of her master. *That means it was her,* she thought, feeling a wave of foolishness wash over her. *I'm really stupid.*

She glanced around; the room was gloomy, despite the light filtering in. An inexplicable heaviness hung in the air. Suddenly, she felt a gaze upon her. Turning slowly, she saw Max sitting in a chair, his piercing eyes fixed on her.

His face looked older, more worn. He had grown thinner, and a stubble beard adorned his jaw, unkempt and rough. Yet, his eyes never wavered; he held her gaze with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Amara stared back at him, her expression blank, silence felt eternal. The room filled with unspoken words.

Neither of them wanted to talk or cry; they simply stared at each other, the silence stretching between them like an unbreakable barrier. Max waited for her to cry, to yell, to curse him—it would have been easier for him to bear. But Amara had matured, and she refused to show him any sign of weakness.

She remained silent, her resolve hardening as she waited for him to speak or to leave.

The room grew darker and darker, the light fading as they remained locked in silence. Neither of them noticed how many minutes had passed, but slowly, Amara became aware of a nagging thirst. She felt dry and uncomfortable, but she said nothing, choosing instead to wait for him to break the silence.

With each passing moment, her throat felt more more uncomfortable, the need for water becoming more urgent. Still, she held her tongue, determined to maintain her composure, even as her body betrayed her with its longing.

But Max noticed how thirsty she was, reading her body language. He reached for a pitcher and glass, slowly filling the glass with water. With deliberate steps, he walked toward Amara.

"Drink," he said, his voice thick and low.

Amara took the glass from him, her hands trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. "Thank you," she whispered, the words barely escaping her mouth.

Max settled back into his chair. "Are you okay?" he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

Amara offered a painful smile. "Not really," she whispered, the word

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her pain. "I see," he said softly, searching for the right words but finding only silence in response.