Ana doesn't talk about the past. Sometimes, Michael thinks she is daring him to ask. When she looks at him -- considers him -- takes him in -- and he remembers blood-drenched pyjamas, bare feet, haunted eyes. Strength and vulnerability. He wants to know what made her.
He wants to ask. But he watches her, instead. She tucks her legs beneath her when she reads. Bites her nails when she's nervous. Laughs, not as frequently as he'd wish, but she glows when she laughs.
Her secrets will be his, eventually. He can wait.
Because every day, she glows just a little bit more.