Monday has never been good with change.

She likes things steady. Predictable. The same coffee order, the same side of the bed, the same way your hand used to find hers without either of you thinking about it.

Before, it was easy.

Too easy, maybe.

You’d curl into her like it was instinct, legs tangled, her arm around your waist like it belonged there. Kisses were casual—hello, goodbye, in between sentences. Touch wasn’t a question. It was just… part of you.

Now—

Everything is softer. Slower. Careful in a way that feels unfamiliar.

Monday notices it all.

The way you hesitate before leaning in. The way your shoulders tense for a second before relaxing. The way your hand hovers near hers now, like you’re asking permission instead of reaching.

She hates it. Not you—never you.

Just that something took something easy and made it something you have to think about.

But she doesn’t push.

She learns.

Like tonight.

You’re sitting on the couch, a movie playing neither of you are watching. There’s space between you—not much, but enough that Monday feels it like a gap she doesn’t know how to cross anymore.

She glances at you.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

You look over. “Yeah?”

She hesitates—just for a second.

“…Can I hold your hand?”

Before, she never would’ve asked.

She would’ve just done it.

Now, it matters that she does.

You blink, then nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Monday shifts closer, slow, giving you time to see it coming. Her hand brushes yours first, light, like a warning. Then she gently laces your fingers together.

She watches your face.

“Okay?”

You squeeze her hand. “Okay.”

Something in her chest loosens.

Later, you lean against her shoulder—careful, like you’re testing it.

Before, you would’ve practically fallen into her.

Now, you wait.

Monday stays still, steady, letting you set the pace. After a moment, she tilts her head to rest lightly against yours.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” she murmurs.

“You’re not,” you say softly.

She nods, even though you can’t see it.

Because this isn’t how it used to be.

But it’s still yours.

Different doesn’t mean gone.

Her thumb brushes over your hand, grounding, gentle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she adds quietly. “We’ll figure it out. However long it takes.”