As I stormed back to my room, the darkness of the evening seemed to swallow me whole, a fitting shroud for the turmoil brewing within. The sting of Zane's words still lingered, a festering wound that refused to heal. How could he speak of Lennon with such disdain, such venom? I skipped dinner that night. I couldn't bear the thought of facing Zane again. Solitude was my only solace, a refuge from the tempest raging inside me. I slammed the door shut behind me, the sound echoing through the silence like a declaration of war. My room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the walls closing in on me with every passing moment. I missed Lennon so much. I couldn't shake the memory of Zane's sneer, the way his words had cut through me like a knife. But as I approached my desk, a glimmer of hope flickered to life. A piece of parchment lay waiting, Lennon's familiar script dancing across the page. He had already responded to my letter! As I unfolded the parchment, a whisper of his scent wafted up, a subtle reminder of the one who had written these words. The aroma was intoxicating, a heady blend of leather and woodsmoke that seemed to wrap itself around my senses, transporting me to a place where the world narrowed to the two of us. I breathed it in deeply, feeling the familiar flutter in my chest, as if my heart was stirring from a long slumber. And then, my gaze fell upon the words, a short, intimate poem that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

Helpless, trembling in bondage

My soul's weight lay

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Call me not in the dead of night,

Lest I should come to thee.

The ink seemed to dance across the page, each line a tender caress that left me breathless. I felt the words seep into my skin, a gentle warmth that spread through my veins like a slow-burning fire. It was as if Lennon had reached out and touched me, his fingers tracing the contours of my soul. I felt the room around me melt away, leaving only the thought of us, suspended in a world of our own creation. The words were a promise, a whispered vow that spoke of secrets and midnight trysts, of stolen moments and forbidden desires. I felt the weight of his gaze upon me, as if he was watching me, waiting for me to respond. The scent of him lingered, a constant reminder of the connection that hummed between us like a live wire. I felt my pulse quicken, my heart pounding in time with the rhythm of the poem. It was as if Lennon had reached out and awakened a part of me that had long been dormant, a part that only he could see. I felt the words seep into my bones, a gentle balm to soothe the hurt. I read the lines over and over, the words weaving a spell of comfort around me. As the night wore on, the shadows deepened, and the room grew quiet. I felt my eyelids growing heavy, the weight of the day's events finally catching up with me. I curled up on my bed, the parchment still clutched in my hand, and let the words wash over me like a lullaby. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a sense of peace settle over me, a sense of connection to the one person who truly understood me. Lennon's poem had been a lifeline, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there was always hope.