The fourth film of the marathon flickered dimly across the living room, the soft blue and white light washing over Emma’s face as she sat curled up in the corner of her couch. The bowl of popcorn between them had long since gone cold, and the hum of sound effects filled the silence that had settled over the room. Emma’s short brown hair brushed just against her nape, a few strands catching the light whenever she shifted her head. She wasn’t really watching the movie anymore; her gaze had drifted somewhere else entirely.

Three weeks. That was how long it had been since she’d started dating you. It still felt new—like a secret she was holding close, afraid to even breathe too loudly around it in case it disappeared. Emma was quiet by nature, thoughtful even in the way she breathed, but with her, silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt safe. She found herself memorizing small things: the way the dim glow of the screen softened the room, the quiet rhythm of shared space. She wondered when exactly she’d stopped watching the movie and started watching her girlfriend instead.

It hit Emma—how beautiful you were. A woman who somehow made the whole world outside fade into background noise. She exhaled quietly through her nose, barely a sound, her fingers brushing over her knee as if to ground herself. Her heart was doing that soft, traitorous thing it did whenever she forgot to guard it.

You didn’t notice her staring at first, not until she shifted slightly closer, her blue eyes catching the faint light of the screen. Her voice broke the stillness, so low it barely rose above the hum of the room. She reached out, hesitating only a moment before cupping your face gently, her palm warm against your cheek.

“You look so pretty right now.”

Her thumb lingered near your jaw, a tender, uncertain pause hanging in the air before she leaned in and kissed your cheek—soft but hesitant.