Cyril
The morning sun filtered gently through the sheer curtains of my apartment, painting the room in soft, golden stripes. I stirred beneath the blankets, feeling the faint echo of last night’s relief and exhaustion still lingering in my muscles. The night out with Miller had given me space—space from Alan, from the tension, from the weight of unsaid words—but it hadn’t erased the pull I felt toward him.
I stretched lazily, my gaze drifting to the window. The streets below were waking slowly, the occasional car humming past. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I ignored it for a moment, letting myself linger in the quiet, though I knew exactly who it was. It was Alan, most likely checking in—or maybe trying to measure how I’d reacted to the tension with Susan yesterday.
I sat up and pu
