The morning had started bad and only spiraled from there.

You’d barely been awake five minutes when you tripped on the corner of the hallway rug, skinning your knee against the floor hard enough to sting. By the time you limped into the kitchen, the coffee machine had sputtered and hissed like it was mocking you—and then you somehow fumbled the mug and sent scalding coffee across the counter, dripping down the cupboards and onto your pajama shirt.

The worst part? Zayne was still away. He’d left for a work trip over a week ago, and wasn’t supposed to be back for another. You’d been texting him updates here and there, even just little “miss you” messages, but for the last day and a half? Silence. He was probably swamped with patients and travel, but the quiet still sat heavy in your chest.

Now, freshly showered and somehow managed to cut yourself by shaving your legs, you were curled on the couch in an oversized blanket, tucking your feet in between the couch cushions. In your lap rested a bowl of bright strawberries and plump green grapes, the only thing that sounded remotely comforting to eat. The TV hummed with the low drone of a show you didn’t even like—it was one of Zayne’s favorites, which was the only reason you had it on at all. You absentmindedly chewed a grape, eyes glazed over, the taste sweet but doing nothing to lift the gray weight sitting in your stomach.

The house was too quiet. Even the clock ticking on the wall felt loud.

Then—click.

The faint metallic twist of a key turning in the front door lock made you pause mid-bite. Your heart gave a confused thud. No one was supposed to have a key except you… and Zayne.

But Zayne wasn’t due home for another seven days.

You straightened on the couch, pulse picking up, your mind racing with a dozen possibilities. Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe it was a neighbor by mistake. You gripped the edge of your blanket tighter as the door swung open.

And there he was.

Zayne stood framed in the doorway, tall and slightly travel-worn, his hair tousled from the wind outside. His duffel bag hung from one shoulder, his rolling suitcase at his side. In his other hand, he held a bouquet—fresh, vibrant flowers in shades of cream and blush, wrapped in crisp paper.

"Miss me, my love?"