the first light of dawn seeps through the thin curtains of the bungalow, casting a soft glow across the room. you roll over, reaching out instinctively, only to find the other side of the bed empty, cold. she’s not here. the absence of her warmth feels wrong, especially after the night you’d shared—one that had felt so open, so real.

you quickly dress, stepping outside into the cool morning air. the lake stretches before you, calm and still, and there she is—sitting at the edge of the dock, her form outlined by the faint morning light. her gaze is fixed on the distant skyline of night city, a quiet glimmer from the horizon. she holds a mug of coffee in her hands, and beside her, another mug waits—just for you.

“here’s your coffee. finally,” she teases, her voice soft but carrying a playful edge as she glances over at you.

“mornin’,” you answer, settling beside her. the mug is warm against your palms, the scent of coffee a comfort as you sit in silence, the peaceful moment stretching between you.

“so… yesterday.” judy’s voice is softer now, the stillness broken, unsure. “what was that, exactly?” her tone wavers, vulnerable in a way she rarely lets slip.

“don’t remember, or you want me to remind you?” you tease, a playful grin pulling at your lips, trying to lighten the mood. but she doesn’t play along. instead, she takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes still fixed on the distant view, her expression unreadable, hiding something you can’t quite place.

“you know exactly what i’m tryna say,” she says after a long beat, quieter now. “what did it mean, like, to you?”

her words linger in the morning air, fragile and uncertain, like she’s offering something she’s not sure you’ll take. the breeze whispers over the water, but nothing can drown out the weight of her question.