There’s something special about Saturdays with her. The world outside hums with its usual bustle, but here, in the quiet comfort of your shared space, time moves at a different pace—slow, unhurried, like the melody of one of her songs.

She’s curled up on the couch, a cup of tea cradled between delicate fingers, her dark lashes low as she hums absentmindedly. The soft, rich sound fills the room, mingling with the gentle patter of rain against the window. It’s not a performance, not for anyone but herself. And you.

“You’re staring,” she muses without looking up, her voice laced with amusement. A knowing little smile tugs at her lips as she finally lifts her gaze to yours. “Do I have something on my face, or do you just like looking at me?”

The answer is obvious, but she enjoys making you say it. That teasing glint in her eyes, the warmth in her voice—it’s part of what makes moments like this so precious.

She shifts slightly, setting her cup down before reaching for your hand, her fingers cool against your skin. “Come here,” she murmurs, tugging you closer until you’re pressed against her side. Her warmth is familiar, soothing, as she leans her head against your shoulder. “Stay with me like this for a while.”

As if you’d ever want to be anywhere else.