Chapter 313
Her laughter was a short, trembling exhale, a low and deep sound, almost like a sigh cut short by joy.
Strangely enough, this laughter was so subtle and personal, so softly audible that its sound waves seemed to travel only within an extremely narrow radius.
The people to Ilux's right, in front of them, or behind them did not react or turn their heads at all, as if they heard nothing.
The world itself seemed to filter the sound, allowing it to reach only a single ear—the ear of Ilux, who sat directly beside her.
And Ilux, as if programmed to respond to that specific frequency, caught the signal immediately.
Only a fraction of a second after Erietta's laughter faded into the air, a similar response slipped from his lips. Not an open laugh, but a harmonized echo, just as low, just as intimate.
Their laughter merged into a short chord played only for and by the two of them, isolated from the bustle of the cinema by an invisible bubble of privacy.
In that moment, RWIA captured more than mere sound—it detected a perfect synchronization, proof that an exclusive channel of communication had formed between them, one that required neither loud words nor the attention of others.
'Instead of being eaten, the popcorn became a victim of their uncontrollable laughter.'
Inside the cinema, illuminated by the kaleidoscopic light from the screen, RWIA continued to stream data directly into the center of Theo's awareness.
One moment captured with exceptional clarity was when Ilux, inspired by a certain character highlighted in the film, performed a small action.
He leaned his head toward Erietta's ear and, lowering his voice into an almost soundless whisper, mimicked a line—or perhaps a ridiculous tone—from that character.
It was not for show or to disturb others, but a private joke meant for only one pair of ears.
This gesture marked a deeper intimacy, a confirmation that the space between them had become safe enough to share humor that the outside world did not need to know.
Erietta's reaction came instantly and without any filter.
Her right hand reflexively covered her mouth, restraining an explosion of laughter bubbling in her chest.
Her body shook violently, a ripple of joy struggling desperately not to spill into the room.
Her left hand, as if it had a mind of its own, repeatedly patted her stomach, a physical attempt to divert or dampen the waves of laughter surging from within.
She fought hard, not only to avoid disturbing other viewers, but perhaps also to avoid giving Ilux too much satisfaction at seeing her exaggerated reaction.
Yet that struggle only made the moment funnier and more human—a battle between self-control and irresistible humor.
Scene after scene passed, and their silent joking continued like a hidden ripple in the ocean of the film.
An inevitable consequence followed.
The two tubs of popcorn that had once been full, bought as loyal companions for watching, had now shrunk drastically long before the film reached its midpoint.
The process of emptying them was not an orderly or calm act of eating.
Some of the golden kernels did indeed reach their intended destination, entering mouths as snacks.
But most of the rest fell victim to unrestrained laughter.
When their shoulders shook, when their heads bowed to suppress laughter, or when trembling hands lifted a handful of popcorn, the kernels scattered.
They fell onto laps, into the gaps between seats, even onto the carpeted floor, becoming silent witnesses to the joy they shared.
The popcorn ran out not because they were very hungry, but because laughter had turned it into confetti for their own small celebration.
"Don't move too much."
In the dark cinema, Theo's attention was subtly divided between two streams of reality.
One stream, more dominant and structured, was the flow of data sent by RWIA from its observation of Erietta and Ilux.
Every touch, whisper, and quiet laugh was faithfully mapped in his mind, forming an ever-updated narrative of their developing relationship.
However, Theo was not a machine with only a single input channel.
Beneath the layer of active awareness focused on the mission, there was another sensitivity constantly alive—a radar that continuously scanned the presence of the entity beside him.
After ensuring that RWIA was operating with perfect autonomy, Theo slowly drew part of his awareness back to the physical space around him.
His head turned slightly, shifting his gaze from the two teenagers in the distance to the figure seated directly to his left. Aldraya.
The changing light from the screen swept alternately across her pale face, highlighting her white hair, as smooth as silk and seemingly untouched by the dust of the world.
A faint scent—not perfume, but a cool, clean natural fragrance like morning dew on a mountain peak—emanated from her body.
And there, within the intimate darkness, Theo found an unexpected sight.
Aldraya's head had tilted, with calm certainty, placing the side of her head directly upon Theo's left shoulder.
It was not a hesitant or shy movement, but a deliberate placement—a decision.
Her empty gaze might still have been directed forward, but her entire posture conveyed a silent request.
For Theo not to move too much.
A warm and spontaneous understanding flowed through Theo's chest.
He nodded, a small nod meant more for himself than for Aldraya, as the girl might not even see it.
He understood.
Amid a serious surveillance task, amid a crowd of unfamiliar humans, Aldraya—a former Archangel who often seemed so distant and unreachable—was seeking a point of support, a simple physical comfort.
Without speaking a single word, Theo accepted his new role.
His right hand, free from the duty of holding popcorn, gently lifted.
His fingers, firm yet gentle, touched Aldraya's white hair and began to stroke it in slow, rhythmic motions.
The touch was attentive, a universal language of comfort.
And as part of this new ritual, Theo added a pattern.
Approximately every twelve seconds, between the long strokes, his palm softly patted the top of Aldraya's head.
Not a hard pat, but a gentle tap filled with affirmation, like someone soothing or offering reassurance.
'There is no longer any room for misinterpretation. Her desire goes beyond light contact and is directed at me.
But I must not forget the objective. This is a mission. I must remain sane and focused.'
The rhythm of the strokes and gentle pats continued long before the film reached its climax, becoming a consistent and reliable cycle amid the uncertainty of the story unfolding on the screen.
Every movement of Theo's hand, every touch upon the cool, silky hair, was a repeated signal, a repetition that created its own pattern of comfort within the unfamiliar darkness.
For Aldraya, whose existence was built upon celestial order and abstraction, this physical repetition might have been something new.
Not merely a touch, but a promise of continuity— a soothing anomaly in a universe filled with change.
Aldraya's response came not in words, but in breath.
Several times, between scenes of the film she might not have been paying attention to, an extremely soft sigh slipped from her usually tightly sealed lips.
To be continued…