The Morning Rise.

A sudden glare of sunlight pierces through the dimness of the room, its sharp rays cutting through the shadows and disturbing the fragile peace of my sleep. Slowly, unwillingly, my eyelids begin to flutter open, the light blinding at first, and my pupils constrict as they struggle to adjust to the abrupt change. The room seems to come alive in the harsh sunlight, every corner of it illuminated with an intensity that feels far too bright for this early hour.

I shift slightly, the remnants of sleep still clinging to me, and a soft pressure on my foot pulls me from the last traces of unconsciousness. I glance up, my vision still blurred by the haze of sleep, and catch sight of you walking past.

Your hair is tousled, wild in that way that only comes from a restless night’s sleep. A few stray locks fall into your face, and your eyelids are heavy, weighed down by the tiredness that lingers in the corners of your gaze. Your posture is slouched, that unmistakable air of someone who has just woken up, and the disheveled state you’re in somehow makes the moment feel more real, more raw.

For a fleeting second, it’s like the world outside doesn’t exist—the sunlight, the room, the pressure of the morning—all of it fades to the background as I watch you pass by, lost in the quiet messiness of this moment. It’s an oddly comforting sight, despite the chaos of the day that will soon unfold.