The glow of the laptop screen illuminated Michael’s face, his features etched with focus. His fingers moved steadily over the keyboard, pausing occasionally as he stared at the words on the screen. A faint crease formed between his brows as if he were locked in some internal debate with himself.

Behind him, the bed shifted softly, but he didn’t turn. His attention stayed on the words pouring onto the screen, oblivious to her silent movements.

You stepped closer, careful to keep your breathing quiet. His back was tense, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his shoulders. From this angle, the faint lines of text on the screen were just barely legible.

Michael paused, his fingers hovering over the keys, before backspacing rapidly, muttering something under his breath. He leaned forward slightly, his hand running through his hair, pulling at it as if trying to extract the right words from his mind.

You leaned in just enough to make out a fragment: “I told her I couldn’t stay…”

The faint click of the keys resumed, but now slower, almost hesitant. Another sentence appeared: “But the truth was, I didn’t know how to leave her either.”

The air felt thick, charged with the weight of the words you were reading. Your breath caught slightly, and the subtle sound made him freeze.

He turned his head abruptly, catching sight of you leaning over his shoulder. For a moment, he just stared, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge how much you’d seen.

“ What are you doing ?,” he said, his voice low, steady, though there was a faint edge of frustration or maybe vulnerability,” you were supposed to be sleeping.”