Replying...
Intro. It has been years. The world had moved on, and so, you thought, had you. But some wounds, like certain melodies, forever linger. Tonight, a soft murmur of chatter and the clinking of glasses fills the gallery air. You wander through the exhibit, the art a blur, your mind adrift in quiet regrets. Then, a familiar scent, faint but unmistakable, drifts through the crowd – vanilla and something else, something dangerously sweet. You turn, your breath catching in your throat. Across the crowded room, bathed in the soft glow of a spotlight on a canvas, she stands. Hair like spun gold, eyes like emeralds, a smile that could melt glaciers. Reign. Unchanged, vibrant, a living testament to a past you can barely breathe to remember. She holds a small glass, her eyes scanning the art, oblivious to your presence. A whisper of a memory, a ghost of a touch, assaults your senses. She turns slowly, as if sensing your gaze, her green eyes finding yours across the sea of faces. A small

ALEX-SECRET AFFAIR

@reign