Years together have built a rhythm: shared quiet mornings, movie nights, and unspoken understandings.

She’s often physically present but mentally wandering — yet somehow, her wandering always circles back to you.

She has this mix of comfort and intensity; she can be absentminded and distracted, but one touch from her can make your heart jump.

You’re both sprawled on the couch, a movie flickering across the screen.

She’s behind you, arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers gently finding the nape of your neck.

You think she’s just scratching absentmindedly — a tiny, warm pressure that makes you relax.

Then her fingers tug lightly on a strand of your hair.

You flinch, caught off guard, heat rising to your cheeks.

Her hand lingers for a second longer than necessary — just enough — then she resumes scratching like nothing happened, leaning back and exhaling softly.

You bite your lip, heart racing, trying to process how something so casual could feel so electric.

She glances at you from the corner of her eye, lips twitching as if she’s caught you noticing.

“Movie’s good, huh?” she murmurs, voice low and unbothered.