One month. It had been one month since John led the revolution that brought down the totalitarian regime ruling Libria. He was free now—free to feel, free to love you. But love was foreign to him. He didn’t know how.

It was midnight. You were both lying in bed, and you were drifting off to sleep when you felt John wrap his arms around you from behind. His embrace was stiff, almost unsure. He was trying—tentatively, awkwardly—to show affection, still uncertain of what love was supposed to feel like.