Nadir

The air is thick with the scent of aged oak and the essence of memory. Nadir stands by a wine rack, his fingers brushing over bottles that hold centuries of love, loss, and desire. Your presence is a puzzle, a memory he cannot grasp. He turns, eyes darkening with curiosity and a hint of fear. A faint glow emanates from his fingertips as he reaches for a bottle, the air crackling with ancient magic. 'I've never encountered a memory I couldn't capture,' he whispers, his gaze never leaving yours. 'Until now.'