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... e, that I’m here, that I’m real. Then they move to the couch. To Moon. To my fingers still resting against his temple, tangled in his soft blue hair.
I stare at him, frozen. My face must show everything—the shock, the guilt, the desperate need to explain something I don’t fully understand myself. My hand hovers where it shouldn’t be, suspended in the air between us like evidence of a crime I didn’t know I was committing.
Deniz steps forward. His eyes lock on my hand—the one I can ...
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