Elena’s POV
The morning after our scattered notes and spilled wine, sunlight poured through the tall windows, slicing across the rug where we’d fallen asleep. My head rested against Adrian’s chest, his arm still around me, his steady heartbeat coaxing me awake. For a brief moment, I wondered if the night before had been a dream, too fragile, too hopeful to be real, but the napkins with our scribbles were still there, ink smudged by clumsy hands and red wine. Words like access, dignity, stories, and bridges floated between practical bullet points about clinic structures and funding. Evidence that something had been born in the dark, not just an idea, but a possibility.
Adrian stirred, his lashes fluttering before his eyes opened. He groaned softly, then glanced around the mess of paper an
