Aanya
I didn’t want to go back to bed. After breakfast and the bitter-tasting medicines Ryan practically spoon-fed me, the idea of crawling under the covers felt more suffocating than soothing. I wanted to breathe. I wanted to feel normal. So I padded into the living room, still in the oversized shirt of his I’d worn all night, and plopped down on the couch with my phone.
Ryan was already seated at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, eyes locked onto his laptop screen, and files spread across the table like a miniature war zone. He hadn’t even noticed I was there at first. Or maybe he had, and just chose not to say anything. That man could be unreadable when he wanted to.
But I noticed him. Oh, I definitely noticed him.
Every time he reached for a file, the veins in his forearms stood
