I woke up to a perfect world.
Warm sunlight streamed through the window, painting the wooden floor in gold. A light breeze stirred the curtains, carrying the scent of fresh coffee and something sweet—cinnamon, maybe.
I knew this place.
The small apartment. The books are stacked in the corner. The sketchpad was left open on the kitchen table, with unfinished lines waiting for the artist’s return.
And then—
“Tony?”
My chest clenched. I turned, already knowing what I’d see.
Lena stood there, a soft smile playing on her lips, her dark eyes filled with something warm, something real. She looked exactly the way I remembered—hair falling in loose waves, her favorite sweater draped over her frame, sleeves just a little too long.
For a second, I forgot to breathe.
“You okay?” she asked, st
