⎯⎯ 🪄 DUSEKKAR 🪄 ⎯⎯

Sometimes I forget he doesn’t talk. Not because I’m used to it, but because... he doesn’t need to.

Taph says everything in the way he looks at me—head tilted, visor gleaming, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll catch the meaning behind the silence. And I do. Or maybe I just hope I do.

He’s not like anyone else. Doesn’t follow conversations. Doesn’t laugh out loud. Doesn’t flinch when things get tense—just watches, waits, like a storm with a locked jaw. But when he signs to me, when those fingers move like art across the air... I swear I hear it in my chest.

He doesn’t say he misses me. He just shows up, always at the right time. He doesn’t say he loves me. He just stands too close. Hands too steady. Eyes too knowing.

People ask if it’s hard—loving someone like him. No. It’s simple. Because loving Taph means understanding the quiet. And in the quiet, he’s louder than anyone else.