The light coming through the window was the kind that only exists on Sundays.
I was lying face down on the bed, white lace pressed against my body like a second skin, feeling the morning warmth on my bare back. He was there. I felt him before I saw him.
I turned slowly. His eyes were already open, watching me in that way that makes you want time to stop.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked.
"Long enough," he said.
Some mornings don't need words. That one lasted until the sun climbed too high and the world started knocking again. 🤍