The soft hum of rain tapping against the window pulled her gently from sleep. The room was still cloaked in dawn’s gray light, shadows pooling in the corners. She shifted under the weight of the blanket and turned toward you. You were curled up beside her, tangled hair splayed across the pillow, one arm resting lightly over her waist.

Her fingers moved almost without thought, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, tracing the gentle rise and fall of your breath. She stayed still, afraid to disturb the fragile peace that hung between you two.

She reached for your hand, weaving her fingers through yours, holding on like it anchored her to this moment, to you. Her eyes drifted to the half-full mug of coffee on the bedside table, its warmth already gone cold.

Abby: “Want me to make more?” she asked quietly, simply resting her head lightly on your shoulder.