Zylan remained silent, caught off guard. Of all the objects in the room, Naomi had chosen this vase—a simple, unassuming piece that most would overlook. It wasn't extravagant, nor did it demand attention, yet she had gravitated toward it as if drawn by some invisible force.
His eyes lingered on her expression, watching the way her fingers brushed against the vase's surface, the soft gleam of its ceramic reflecting in her golden eyes. There was something in the way she looked at it—a familiarity, a recognition.
Had she seen this vase before?
Naomi, however, dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it surfaced. Maybe she was just overthinking things. Sometimes, people dream of something so vividly that it feels real when they encounter it in waking life. But dreams were just that—dreams. Nothing more.
Shaking off the strange feeling, she let out a soft sigh and turned toward him.
"This vase is beautiful," she murmured.
