The apartment was quiet except for the faint buzz of the ceiling fan and the low hum of the street outside. Paul sat comfortably on the couch, his tux jacket draped over one armrest, sleeves rolled up, looking completely at home in her cramped little living room.
Mariella still couldn’t believe he was actually there, Paul Razon, in her space, sitting on the same couch where she usually studied, ate instant noodles, and fell asleep watching reruns.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her with that familiar, unreadable calm. “Since I’m already here,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes anything but, “maybe you can show me your room.”
Mariella froze mid-step.
Her brain short-circuited for two full seconds. “My... room?”
He nodded, the smallest smile tugging at his lips.
