“Yes, Louis,” she confirmed, her own voice thick with feeling. “I do.”

He nodded, a slow, almost imperceptible movement. He didn’t offer a thank you, but he didn’t need to. 

The way he held the bottle, the way his gaze lingered on hers, the subtle trembling of his hand – it all spoke volumes. It was a rare crack in his emotional armor, a moment of profound recognition.

He capped the bottle, but didn’t put it down. Instead, he held it against his chest, as if protecting something precious. 

“No one… no one has ever… perceived me like that,” he admitted, his voice still low, almost reverent. “Not even Joyce.” 

The mention of her name was devoid of its usual tension, overshadowed by the intimacy of the moment.

Cheryl felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of deep connection that transcended words. This wasn’t just about art anymore. 

This was about seeing, truly seeing, another soul. The chasm she had sought to bridge with “Nebula Bloom” now felt significantly narrower, almost within reach. 

In the quiet hum of the studio, surrounded by the nascent cosmos, their connection shifted, deepening into something far more personal, far more emotionally resonant than either of them had anticipated. The “Luminous Void” had found its home.