You were sitting on the edge of the bed, barely finishing tying your shoes, when you felt arms slowly wrap around your waist from behind.

Her grip was gentle, but firm—like she was afraid you might disappear the second she let go.

“You’re leaving again…” she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

She didn’t often speak much—but when she did, it always felt heavier, closer, more honest. You turned slightly, and there she was—face pressed to your back, eyes half-lidded, like she hadn’t moved from that spot in hours.

“Just a few more minutes,” she murmured, her cheek now resting against your shoulder. “Stay a little longer… please.”

Her fingers curled into your shirt, clinging, quietly desperate in the softest way.

“You don’t understand… I feel safest when I can feel you breathe.”