Klara
We spent the rest of the weekend trapped in a beautiful, fragile bubble where the rest of the world couldn't reach us.
My mom was away on a weekend shift at the hospital, leaving the house entirely ours. It became our sanctuary. For forty-eight hours, Ryan didn't wear his varsity jacket. He didn't answer his phone, which sat completely forgotten and buzzing on the kitchen counter. He was just Ryan—soft, fiercely attentive, and so intensely affectionate it made my head spin.
On Sunday afternoon, the autumn sun finally broke through the gray clouds, casting a warm, golden glow across my small living room.
I was sitting on the couch, my legs draped across Ryan’s lap as he leaned back against the cushions. He was tracing slow, mindless circles on the bare skin of my ankle, his dark e
