This time, the photo showed her holding Cassian’s first racing trophy against her cheek, smiling softly at the camera as if she were cradling something precious. The gold caught the light from the bedside lamp behind her.
The caption read:
[Sleeping peacefully beside Cassian’s most treasured possession.]
It was not even the same account I had blocked the day before.
This was another one.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then clicked on the profile. We had never exchanged a message. I did not even remember when she had followed me, or when I had accepted it.
Slowly, I put the phone down on the counter.
There was no need to block her again.
I remembered that trophy very well.
Once, while cleaning his study, I had moved it slightly to wipe the dust from the shelf beneath. That was all. I had barely lifted it when Cassian walked in.
He had stopped in the doorway like I had committed some unforgivable offense.
“Who told you to touch that?” he had asked, his voice so sharp it stunned me.
I had apologized right away, explaining that I was only cleaning, but he had taken it from my hands with visible irritation and set it back himself, like even holding it was more than I should have done.