<b>Phoebe set her bowl down on the dresser, her expression shifting as she moved closer to Irene, settling beside her on the bed. The dim candle light flickered, casting soft shadows across the room, making the moment feel fragile—like a memory that could slip through Irene’s fingers at any second.</b>


    <b>"Come on, talk to me. What’s wrong?" Phoebe’s voice was gentle but firm, her concern evident.</b>


    <b>"Nothing," Irene lied, her voice barely above a whisper.</b>


    <b>Phoebe sighed, shaking her head slightly. "You don’t have to lie to me. I’m your friend. I’ll never judge you for how you feel."</b>


    <b>Irene swallowed hard, but the pressure in her chest was unbearable. She knew this memory—knew exactly how it played out. But why had the spell brought her back here? Of all the moments in her life, why this one?</b>


    <b>She felt the weight of her emotions threatening to crush her, and before she could stop them, the tears began to fall, warm streaks trailing down her cheeks. It took her a few seconds to find her voice, to say something—anything. Finally, she sniffled and whispered,</b>


    <b>"Every relationship I’ve ever been in—with a guy—they always tell me I don’t care about anything. But I do care. I care a lot… maybe too much. But none of them ever seem to see that. I don’t know, maybe I’m just… destined to never have anyone."</b>


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    <b>Phoebe didn’t rush to respond. She didn’t offer meaningless reassurances or force words into the silence. Instead, she simply listened, her gaze steady and unwavering. It wasn’t a silence filled with judgment—it was patient, understanding. And then, after a moment, Phoebe finally spoke.</b>


    <b>"Don’t think that just because some people don’t take the time to understand you, it means you’ll never have love."</b>


    <b>Irene let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the fabric of the velvet blanket. "What if no one even wants to try?" she murmured.</b>


    <b>Phoebe didn’t hesitate. "I will."</b>


    <b>Irene’s breath hitched. "Really?" she asked, her voice barely audible as she turned to look at Phoebe.</b>


    <b>Phoebe reached up, her fingers brushing against Irene’s damp cheek, wiping away the tears with a tenderness that sent a shiver down Irene’s spine. The warmth of her touch, the softness of her gaze—it was overwhelming.</b>


    <b>"Yes," Phoebe whispered. "I will always be here for you. No matter what."</b>


    <b>Irene’s body felt impossibly warm, heat crawling up her neck at the feeling of Phoebe’s fingertips against her skin. Their faces were so close now, breaths mingling in the dimly lit space between them. Without thinking, without questioning, Irene leaned in.</b>


    <b>Phoebe met her halfway. Their lips brushed, a delicate and uncertain press at first, but then Irene melted into it. Phoebe’s lips were soft, warm—familiar in a way that made Irene’s heart ache. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the quiet, aching need to be understood. Phoebe’s hands slipped gently to Irene’s waist, while Irene’s fingers cupped Phoebe’s face as if she were something fragile, something she didn’t want to let go of.</b>


    <b>It wasn’t about desire. It wasn’t about passion. It was something deeper.</b>


    <b>It was a promise.</b>