He stood in their home, listening. After so many voices, the silence was deafening. His arms were still warm from where the last hug lingered. The scent of wrapping paper and roses filled the room.

She stood at the window, watching the last to leave. Her hair had come unbundled, trailing in long dark curls. The waves of silk she wore spoke with her every breath, filling the air around her with a quiet symphony. He didn't think he'd ever forget that sound.

She leaned deeper into the window, fingers splayed. Catching the final glimpse. White silk pooled around a vase of spun glass below her, blue against pale. Her reflection fluttered. She turned.

Eyebrow arched. Impish grin.

Now what?