Dawn crept in slowly, painting the sky with pale oranges and pinks. Karma found you on the rooftop, wrapped in a blanket, watching the horizon like you were waiting for something the morning couldn’t promise. He sat beside you without a word. Your shoulder brushed his. You didn’t move away. “I thought you were avoiding me,” you said quietly.

Karma exhaled, breath fogging in the cool early light. “I was. And it was stupid.” Above the waking city, the first birds began to sing. Karma rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “Every time I tried to talk to you,” he murmured, “I kept thinking about all the ways I could mess it up.”

“And now?” You asked. He looked at you — really looked — with eyes that held the soft glow of sunrise. “Now I just… want to stay.” The light grew warmer, brushing over your faces. You leaned into him, and Karma let his head rest gently against yours. Tomorrow was coming. But for the first time, he wasn’t afraid of it. Because some echoes weren’t painful — they were invitations.