Zara held her phone, her thumb hovering, poised. Behind her, Leo’s tall figure was partially reflected. He wore a black fitted tee, his toned bicep resting lazily around her waist. He didn’t say a word he didn’t need to. He was the calm in the storm she used to live in.
The photo was casual. Effortless. The kind of picture that looked like it wasn’t planned, when in reality, they’d taken seventeen versions before landing on this one.
Her caption was already typed:
> Healing looks good on me.
With a decisive tap, Zara released the image onto the internet. Then, with a slow, controlled exhale, she dropped her phone face down onto the polished café table, as if severing a physical connection to the impending storm. She took a deep, steadying breath, the scent of fresh coffee grounding
