The silence after that didn't last long. It never did. "Again," he said. I stared at him for a second, genuinely considering just walking away. "Do you know any other word?" I muttered. "Yes." "Could've fooled me."
I lifted my hand again, slower this time, trying to keep whatever little patience I had left from slipping. The light didn't come. Not immediately. Of course it didn't. I exhaled, frustration already building again. "This isn't working," I said. "It is." "No, it's not." "You're still thinking about controlling it." I frowned. "That's literally what you told me to do." "No," he said, calmer than I felt, "I told you to stop forcing it." "That's not helpful."
Before I could argue again, he stepped closer. Not suddenly, not in a way that made me step back—but enough to make me pause. I didn't move. This time, he didn't grab my wrist. Instead, his hand lifted and hovered just above mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of it without actual contact. "Don't move," he said quietly. "I wasn't planning to."
Something shifted then—not around us, but between us. I felt it immediately. A different kind of energy. Not mine. His. It wasn't sharp or overwhelming. It was steady. Controlled in a way mine had never been. The air didn't tighten—it settled, like everything had found its place. My breathing slowed without me realizing it. "What are you doing?" I asked softly. "Showing you."
The light appeared—but not from me. From him. It formed between us, soft at first, then clearer, shaping itself into something precise. Not a burst. Not a reaction. A choice. "Feel it," he said. I did. It wasn't pushing or forcing anything. It simply existed, calm and certain.
"Your mistake," he continued, "is thinking it's something you control." I frowned slightly. "Then what is it?" He didn't answer. His hand lowered just a little closer, and the light shifted. This time, it responded to me. My breath caught. I hadn't reached for it. I hadn't done anything. And yet—it moved.
"Don't grab it," he said, softer now. "Let it come to you."
Every instinct I had told me to take control, to hold it before it slipped again. I didn't. I stayed still. I waited.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then slowly—almost carefully—the light moved closer, warmer, until it settled at my fingertips. Not violently. Not suddenly. Just… there.
My eyes widened slightly. "I didn't even—" "I know."
I looked up at him, and for once, he wasn't watching the power. He was watching me. "That's how it's supposed to feel," he said.
For a moment, everything else faded. The pressure. The frustration. The constant failure. It felt… easy.
Then it flickered.
My focus slipped, just slightly. The light trembled, and I tensed, expecting it to surge out of control again—but it didn't. It stayed. Not perfect. Not strong. But stable.
I let out a slow breath, staring at it. "…Okay," I whispered. "That's new."
A small pause followed. Then, "That's progress."
I blinked and looked at him again. "…Wait," I said slowly, "was that—" "Yes."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You could've done that earlier." "I didn't." "Why not?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then, quietly, "Because you wouldn't have understood it."
I exhaled slowly, looking back at the faint light resting calmly at my fingertips. For the first time, it didn't feel like something I had to fight. It didn't feel like it was waiting to break free or turn against me.
It felt like something that had finally chosen to stay.