Reza
I wake up with the strange sense that something is still holding me.
Not physically, nothing so simple, but the echo of warmth, the residue of a night that hasn’t yet released its claim on my body.
For a moment, I don’t move.
I lie there, eyes half-open, watching early light creep across the ceiling, and let myself replay it without urgency. The candlelight reflected in glass. The way the forest smelled near the lake, cool water and moss and something faintly sweet. Fireflies blinking in slow, unhurried rhythms, as if time itself had agreed to slow down for us.
Aaron’s voice, lower than usual. His attention, complete without being heavy. The careful way he had planned everything without once making it feel like a performance.
No audience.
No expectation.
Just choice.
Starla s
