I wake to a soft humming, a gentle melody that weaves its way into my sleepy consciousness, a tune I vaguely recognize as one of Lior’s favorites.
And then, the scent. Sweet, warm vanilla, filling the small cabin with a comforting aroma, chasing away the lingering scent of pine and woodsmoke.
My eyelids flutter open, and Lior is there, kneeling beside the bed, a goofy, slightly nervous grin on his face.
“Wakey, wakey, little star,” he whispers, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.
In his hands, he holds a small, slightly lopsided cake, frosted with what looks like a whole lot of love and maybe just a touch of amateur enthusiasm.
The frosting is swirled unevenly, and a few stray sprinkles cling precariously to the edges, but it’s undeniably heartfelt.
