Every morning since she started her healing process , Zara woke with a faint, almost imperceptible lightness blooming in her chest. Before the endless scroll of social media. Before the mundane drag of a toothbrush across her tongue. Before the noise.
She would reach for her phone.
The camera app would hum to life, capturing her in the soft, unfiltered dawn light.
Sometimes she was still tangled in her duvet, hair a wild halo, a playful, unedited burrito of chaos.
Other mornings, it was a mirror pic confident, almost defiant her skin freshly glazed from skincare, glowing like she swallowed the sun. Sometimes a selfie.
Each image was vulnerable. A tiny, silent offering of her evolving self. And every single one went directly to Leo.
No captions. No explanations. Just her sending a pic
