My Likelo //free\\ -

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Because in that moment, she understood: the dream hadn’t been hers alone. The language of starlight had visited him too, in some other dream, some other night. And he had kept the word safe— protected it without knowing why —just as she had.

Leo was her likelo. The man who left love notes in her coffee mug. Who fixed the loose button on her coat even though his fingers were too big for the needle. Who, when she came home crying about a promotion she didn’t get, simply poured her a glass of red wine and said, “Tell me everything. Or nothing. Both are okay.” my likelo

His fingers twitched.

She never told him about the dream-language. It felt too fragile, like a bird’s egg. Tears spilled down her cheeks

“My likelo,” she breathed.

His eyelids fluttered. His mouth moved, dry and cracked, shaping something soundless. She leaned close enough to feel his breath. And he had kept the word safe— protected

But Elara knew better. It was just a likelo, doing what likelos do.