Just as she closed the door behind her, Naomi realized that some strands of her golden hair were slightly disheveled—not too messy, just enough to bother her after she had jumped earlier to snatch that embarrassing frame from Zylan. She raised her hand to smooth it down, but before she could finish, Zylan's hands gently moved to her head.
Her heart raced as he carefully and tenderly adjusted her hair. She couldn't decide whether to smile or laugh at how meticulous he was being, but she loved it. Zylan's attentiveness far exceeded her expectations, and the warmth in her chest grew with the thought of how much he cared for her. It was a strange sensation, this tender care from someone who wasn't obligated to be kind, yet chose to be so.
As he finished smoothing down the last strand, Zylan's fingers brushed against her scalp with a delicate touch, and Naomi felt her breath catch. It was as if every movement, every glance, had been carefully calculated to make her feel special.
