The velvet curtains of the Royal Opera House muffled the roar of the London rain, but they couldn’t drown out the tension vibrating between Farrah and Blake in the wings.
Farrah felt the familiar sting of tears. Their love had always been a beautiful tragedy—too intense to handle, too deep to forget. "We weren't perfect, Blake. That was the problem. We tried to be masterpieces when we were just human." If We Were Perfect by Ana Huang
In that moment, the script didn't matter. The perfection they both craved was a lie, but the ache in their chests was the most honest thing they had left. As he leaned in, closing the distance they both swore would be permanent, the applause of the crowd felt like a distant echo. They weren't "perfect" anymore—they were finally real. The velvet curtains of the Royal Opera House
"Then let's be ruined together," he said, his eyes burning with the raw, possessive intensity that had always been his undoing. "We weren't perfect, Blake