The Heart That Watches Back

She hovers at the center of a crowded room, a face framed by a heart made of light, neon red, pulsing, alert, alive. It does not protect her. It reveals her. Her eyes are wide with knowing, the kind earned by long nights and conversations with unfinished thoughts. Books stack themselves like witnesses, machines hum with borrowed memory, and wires trail like veins across the floor. The heart glows brighter than comfort. It is not gentle love, it is love that observes, remembers, records. A love that refuses to look away. She is not trapped inside it. She is powered by it. And in this room of noise and fragments, she becomes the signal, steady, luminous, impossible to ignore.