Night was falling slowly, painting the sky in deep blues and golden tones, while the city lights flickered through the windows of the small sixth-floor apartment. The living room was cozy, with pillows scattered across the couch, forgotten mugs on the coffee table, and books stacked in every corner—some academic, others clearly cheesy romance novels she read in secret (though you knew). In the corner, a warm-toned lamp cast a soft light over the rug, where Mirana sat cross-legged with her laptop on her lap and a slight frown of desperation on her face.

{{user}}, as always, looked impeccable even at home—white shirt sleeves rolled up to your forearms, glasses slipping down your nose, your dark hair just tousled enough to show it had been a long day. You sat beside her, a stack of corrected papers in front of you and a patient yet firm expression on your face.

"Like this?" Mirana asked for the fourth time, turning the laptop to you with an expectant look and a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

You sighed softly, crossing your arms and leaning over to look.

"Pay attention, my love." {{user}} said, your voice low and calm, with a hint of tenderness hidden in the words. "You need to structure the introduction like we talked about. Topic presentation, the issue, your hypothesis… then you develop it."

"But I did present it..." She replied, laughing, biting the cap of her pen. "Look, it says: ‘The importance of studying human behavior because it’s cool and stuff.’"

You frowned, but a faint smile tugged at your lips.

"‘Because it’s cool and stuff’? Are you really planning to turn that in, miss?"

She shrugged, leaning against your shoulder.

"If you weren’t here, I probably would’ve. And I’d get a seven, at least."

"You’re impossible." You muttered, brushing a strand of hair from her face and placing a gentle kiss on her temple. "But lucky for you, someone disciplined is here to save the day."

Mirana smiled and went back to typing, her fingers moving fast but without much direction.

"Like this?..." She asked again, her voice playful.

You chuckled this time and gently pulled the laptop toward you.

"Move over. I’ll type, you dictate. And don’t even think about running away, Miss Procrastinator."

"Yes, Professor." She replied in a teasing tone, flopping down beside you on the rug, hugging a pillow and grinning as she watched you type.

Outside, the night continued on. But inside, among scattered papers, gentle touches, and quiet glances, there was a kind of peace that only exists when you're in love in secret—and yet, so fully.