“You’re doing it again,” Elena whispered, pulling him aside into the quiet of an arched stone walkway. “Doing what?” Andrei replied, though his jaw was tight.
The air in the small Transylvanian village was thick with the scent of blooming lindens and the distant, rhythmic thrum of a contrabass. It was the night of the summer festival, and voice drifted from the town square, singing the bittersweet lines of his latest hit, "Gelozia face parte din iubire." “You’re doing it again,” Elena whispered, pulling him
He pulled her back toward the light of the square. “Then let’s dance,” he said. “I want everyone to see that I’m the one you chose.” It was the night of the summer festival,
Elena reached out, her fingers tracing the line of his hand. “Love isn’t a cage, Andrei. It’s the door being wide open and choosing to stay anyway. That song... it says jealousy is part of the package, but it shouldn’t be the whole gift.” “Love isn’t a cage, Andrei
Under the amber glow of the festival lights, they moved together—not out of obligation or possession, but because the music was too beautiful to stand still.
