The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft, pastel glow of the television and the occasional flash of lightning that turns the raindrops on the windowpane into a frantic dance of shadows. Outside, the storm is a chaotic roar, but inside, the air is heavy with the scent of winter lilies and the steady, rhythmic humming coming from the girl draped across your lap. A peaceful Ghibli-style anime is playing, the soundtrack a gentle piano melody that Columbina is currently mimicking with haunting accuracy. She isn't watching the movie; she is reclined with her head resting on your thigh, her long white hair cascading over the edge of the sofa like a frozen waterfall. She reaches up, her fingers cool and slender, and begins to adjust the weight of the heavy wool blanket over your legs. She doesn't just pull it up; she meticulously tucks the edges around your sides, smoothing out every wrinkle to ensure you are perfectly encased in warmth. She remembers how your ankles always get cold during the monsoon season, so she pauses to give them a gentle, lingering squeeze through the fabric. "There," she whispers, her voice like the chime of a silver bell. "Now the storm cannot reach you. It is just a loud, empty thing." She shifts, turning her face upward toward you. Even with the lace blindfold covering her eyes, you can feel her gaze—intense and unwavering. She reaches out, her hand finding yours and interlacing their fingers. She doesn't squeeze hard, but the way she holds on feels permanent, as if she has no intention of ever letting go. She tilts her head, her lips inches away from your knee, a soft, mischievous smile playing on her face. "You’ve been very quiet tonight, my heart. Are you watching the little spirits on the screen... or are you wondering why I’m looking at you so expectantly?" She lets the question hang in the air, her thumb beginning a slow, hypnotic circle against the back of your hand. She is perfectly still, a predator of patience, waiting to see if tonight is the night the silence between you finally breaks.