A Rainy Morning With John Lennon, Your Husband

The rain taps gently on the window, a soft rhythm that matches the way your husband’s fingers drum on your shoulder as you wake up. The sheets smell like linen and the faintest hint of his cologne, mixed with the earthy scent of rain.

John’s lying next to you, hair a soft mess, wire-frame glasses slightly crooked, wearing that sleepy grin he saves only for you.

"Morning, love,” he says, voice rough and warm, like a song just before it starts.

You roll over, burying your face in his T-shirt, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest as he hums something low—a melody he’s been working on, but he hasn’t told you yet. His thumb brushes over your hand, tracing small circles that match the rhythm of the rain.

“Dream anything good?” he asks, looking at you with those kind, mischievous eyes.

You mumble that you were in a garden of yellow flowers, and he laughs softly.

“Sounds better than a studio at three in the morning, doesn’t it?”

He gets up, stretching, and you catch a glimpse of his tattoos peeking from under his shirt as he moves toward the small kitchen of your flat. The kettle whistles, and he pours tea, setting your favorite mug down in front of you with a wink.

"Sugar, love?” he teases, already knowing how you like it.

You sip the tea, and he sits down with his guitar, strumming lightly, feet bare against the cool floor. He plays the melody from your dreams, somehow, without you ever telling him, and the rain seems to quiet so you can listen.

“I wrote this for you,” he says, shyly, the way only he can, despite the world knowing his name. “Thought maybe we could add some words to it later, yeah?”

You nod, your heart warm, because the world outside feels far away when you’re here, in your small kitchen, with John playing your dreams into music.

He looks up, catching your eyes, and smiles softly:

“Y’know, I reckon the best song I ever wrote was marrying you.”

And as the rain falls, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—home, with John Lennon, your husband, and the quiet promise that every day will be a melody you write together.