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But that was hard to do when she still woke up gasping from dreams where she was back in that place, drugged and helpless. The memories were hazy, mercifully dulled by whatever they'd given her, but they were there, buried in her subconscious mind and emerging when her defenses were down.

"Arezoo," Ruvon said softly, and she realized that her hands were trembling. He reached out as if to take them, then stopped.

"I have no expectations," he said, his voice fierce with sincerity. "You're completely in charge here. You make the rules. I'm just grateful you're giving me a chance to spend time with you."

The statement stunned her. Where she came from, women had no power, no agency.

Men made the decisions and set the rules.

And Ruvon wasn't a product of the Western world, where women's rights were at least acknowledged, even if not always respected.

He came from the same oppressive background she did, maybe worse.

Yet here he was, handing her all the power, and it was like a weight she didn't know she'd been carrying suddenly lifted from her shoulders.

"You really mean that," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"I do." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I know what it's like to have your choices taken away, to be trapped in a situation where you have no control. It has been a long time since I was in that situation, so I've had time to recover. You are still healing."

That was such a deep level of understanding, so unexpected, that it hit her like a kick to the gut.

When a tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, she pulled her hand free to wipe it away, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"

"Don't apologize," he said. "Not for this. Not to me."

She looked at him then and saw what had been in front of her the entire time but hadn't fully registered.

Ruvon had escaped from the Brotherhood, from the same organization that had harbored her abuser, and it occurred to her that he had been abused as well.

He'd risked everything to get away, to find freedom and a new life.

He was like her—a survivor who'd clawed his way out of darkness.

She was still clawing.

That was why he understood, why he could offer her control without making it seem like a gift or a favor, but simply the natural order of things.

"We should eat," she said finally, taking a deep breath. "Atzil's feast shouldn't go to waste."

They returned to their plates, the atmosphere lighter somehow, as if her confession had cleared the air between them. The food was incredible—each bite perfectly seasoned and prepared with obvious care.

"This hummus is amazing." Arezoo spread more on a piece of bread. "I've tried to make it myself, but it never turns out this smooth."

"The secret is probably some impossible technique that takes years to master," Ruvon said. "Like removing each chickpea skin individually while chanting ancient culinary spells."

She laughed, nearly choking on her bread. "Ancient culinary spells?"

"Oh, yes. Atzil might hide a grimoire of secret recipes somewhere."

She hadn't known Ruvon had such a sense of humor. Perhaps their mutual confessions had liberated him as well.

"Protected by supernatural forces that strike down anyone who tries to steal them?"

"Exactly. Lightning bolts for anyone who dares attempt his special tahini blend."

They continued in this vein, creating increasingly absurd theories about Atzil's cooking secrets.

The wine helped, loosening Arezoo's usual reserve and making everything seem funnier than it probably was.

She felt light, almost floating, but in a good way—not the terrifying disconnection she'd experienced during her captivity, but a pleasant warmth that made her feel bold.

When they'd eaten their fill of the main courses, Arezoo pulled out the poetry book from her bag.

The leather cover was soft under her fingers, familiar and comforting.

"What shall I read tonight?" she asked, flipping through the pages.

"Whatever speaks to you." Ruvon leaned back on his hands.

She let the book fall open naturally, and her breath caught. It was a love poem, one she'd read alone in her room but had never dared to read aloud. The words seemed to pulse on the page, daring her.

"This one," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She began to read, the ancient words flowing like honey from her lips.

The poem spoke of longing, of two souls reaching across impossible distances, of love that defied logic and circumstance.

As she read, she became hyperaware of Ruvon's presence—the way he leaned slightly toward her, the way his breathing had deepened, the way his eyes never left her face.

When she reached the verse about a first kiss beneath the stars, her voice faltered. The air between them had become charged, electric with possibility. She looked up from the page to find Ruvon staring at her lips, his expression soft with wonder and want.

Something inside her shifted, a door opening that she'd thought was locked forever. Without letting herself think, without letting fear intrude, she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his.

It was barely a kiss, just the briefest contact, soft as butterfly wings, and then she pulled back. But it was enough to send her heart racing, enough to make her feel like she'd stepped off a cliff into free fall.

Ruvon sat frozen, his eyes wide with shock. He didn't move, didn't breathe, just stared at her as if she'd cast a spell over him.

A giggle bubbled up from her chest, breaking the spell. "You look like you've been struck by lightning."

He blinked, coming back to himself. "I was. Did you just kiss me?"

"Yes." She was surprised by how steady her voice sounded, when inside she was anything but.

"Why?" The question came out as barely more than a breath.

She considered how to answer, then decided on simple honesty. "You have nice lips." She felt heat flood her cheeks. "I've never kissed anyone before. I wanted to know what it was like."

If possible, his eyes got even wider. "This was your first kiss?"

She nodded, suddenly shy again. "Was it... Okay?"

"Okay?" He laughed, but it was shaky, overwhelmed. "Arezoo, that was... I don't have words. A gift. Thank you."

"It was just a little kiss."

"You trusted me enough to choose me to be your first." He paused. "That's a precious gift," he added softly.

She noticed he made no move to kiss her back, to push for more, and her heart swelled with gratitude.

"I think it's time for those chocolate strawberries," she said, needing to lighten the moment before she did something really crazy like kiss him again.

"Right. Yes. Strawberries." He fumbled for the container, looking as shaken as she still felt.

The strawberries were perfect—ripe and sweet beneath a layer of dark chocolate. They drank more wine and read more poems, but the atmosphere had shifted. Every glance felt weighted, every accidental touch electric.

As the sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of pink and purple, Arezoo realized something had fundamentally changed not just between them, but inside her.

Tonight, she had taken back a piece of herself she'd thought was lost forever. She'd chosen to kiss a man—this sweet, patient, understanding man who gave her all the power and asked for only her friendship in return.