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Thillak and I moved like shadows through the dimly lit corridors, our hoods pulled low, shielding our faces from prying eyes.
The sensation of his hand in mine, so large and reassuringly warm, acted as an anchor, keeping me grounded amidst the chaos and uncertainty of our surroundings.
With every step we took, the harmonious blend of Thillak’s low, rhythmic heartbeat and the distant hum of the prison’s generators formed a comforting symphony.
It was strange to find solace in such an environment, yet there it was, nestled between whispered secrets and stolen glances.
While the memories he described felt foreign, like stories from an ancient book, the way he recounted them gave them a vivid authenticity.
Each tale was a portal that transported me to a realm of cosmic wonders, celestial dances, and galactic escapades.
And, as though watching a play, I’d picture us: laughing amidst alien marketplaces, racing across asteroid fields, or gazing at novas from the deck of a spaceship.
Yet, even in the vast tapestry of these stories, it was the smaller moments that resonated most deeply with me: the delicate sound of our laughter echoing through the galaxies, the intoxicating scent of foreign flowers as Thillak would hand me a bouquet, or the tantalizing taste of exotic fruits shared under starlit skies.
But what made it all so maddeningly perplexing was that I couldn’t recall any of it.
They felt like a dream just out of reach, a mirage that dissolved every time I tried to grasp it.
And while my mind rebelled, my heart, with its growing fondness for Thillak, wanted desperately to believe.
As we journeyed together through the maze-like corridors of the prison, sometimes he’d pull me into a secluded alcove.
With our faces still concealed by the hoods, he’d hold me close, our breaths mingling, the contours of his lips teasingly brushing against mine.
Each touch, each stolen kiss became a testament of the passion that simmered between us.
And every time we succumbed to the fire of our attraction, the touch of his lips became a bewitching elixir, his scent a seductive aroma that enveloped me, and the texture of his skin a canvas chronicling tales of eons.
The feeling of being so intimately intertwined with someone was both familiar and foreign.
While my body responded with an instinctual ardor, my mind would whirl, seeking the elusive connection to past lives.
The silky sheets against our skin, the gentle play of light and shadow, the whispered endearments, and the crescendo of our shared pleasure; each experience seemed like a puzzle piece waiting to be fitted into the grand mosaic of our shared history.
One evening, as the twin suns set, casting a rose-gold hue over the prison’s exterior, Thillak and I sat atop a secluded ledge, our legs dangling over the edge.
The cool, crisp air carried with it the faint tang unique to Ikmal.
We sat in silence, the vast expanse of space before us.
It was moments like these, shrouded in stillness and serenity, that I found myself most lost in thought.
“Thillak,” I began, hesitatingly. “What if I never remember? What if these memories, these lifetimes, remain locked away?”
He turned to me, his piercing gaze filled with warmth and understanding.
Drawing me closer, his voice, a gentle rumble, replied, “Whether you remember or not, Isla, we have now. We’re creating new memories, new adventures. And that’s all that matters.”
I looked into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a spark of something ancient, something profound.
And while the vastness of our cosmic journey still eluded me, the present moment, with its raw, palpable emotion, was more than enough.
It was real, tangible, and beautifully ours, and I didn’t have to share it with anyone — not even my past or future self.
* * *
The past days had become a blur of intrigue and clandestine meetings.
