Episode 10: Already home
429 Words
Karen’s Journal — “Without Announcing It”
There’s no ceremony to it anymore.
I don’t pack a bag when I go to Siara’s place.
I don’t warn her when I’m on my way.
I just... exist there, now.
My toothbrush stands beside hers in the little ceramic holder — slightly crooked, like it’s leaning in.
There’s a worn navy robe on her bathroom hook that used to live in my closet.
She keeps my brand of tea on the second shelf, even though she doesn’t drink it.
Tonight, after our walk, we just came back. Quietly. Naturally.
I toed off my shoes, picked up a sock of mine from under her coffee table, folded it without thinking.
She was already pouring hot water into two mismatched mugs.
> “Lavender or lemon balm?” she asked.
“Lavender,” I said, like always.
And that was it.
We brushed our teeth in unison, bumping elbows.
She stole one of my socks and wore it like a trophy.
We fell asleep tangled — her leg slung over mine, her palm warm against my collarbone.
No words like sleepover or stay the night.
Because it’s not staying anymore.
It’s just… living. Together. In pieces.
I didn’t ask to move in.
She didn’t offer.
But love doesn’t always knock.
Sometimes it just takes off its heels and curls into the sheets beside you.
—Karen
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Siara’s Journal — “Her Coffee, My Socks”
Karen’s basically moved in.
Not with boxes. Not with grand declarations.
Just with presence.
Her robe is hanging next to my towel.
Her hand lotion sits on the windowsill.
And every morning, there’s a quiet war about who makes coffee first (I win 60% of the time).
She didn’t ask. I didn’t offer.
But now she hums while folding my clothes.
Uses my favorite mug without apology.
Washes her hair with my lavender shampoo and complains about how her curls react to it but keeps using it anyway.
Tonight, she came back from our walk, took off her earrings, and whispered, “I’ll make tea.”
Like we’ve done this a thousand nights.
Like she’s always been here.
And when we finally curled into bed, I said something like,
> “You know this is your home too, right?”
She didn’t respond with words.
Just kissed my shoulder and sighed into my skin like she already knew.
And maybe that’s how love works.
Not with big, sweeping moments.
But with toothbrushes and tea and the kind of silence that makes you feel full.
—Siara
- Writer
