It happened on a slow morning—the kind where time felt like it forgot how to move.

Sunlight crept through the curtains in soft golden stripes, casting a warm glow over the bed where she was still bundled like a sleepy goddess in an avalanche of blankets.

“Mita…” you whispered, gently nudging her side.

Nothing.

Well—not nothing. She made a sound. A soft, sleepy mrrmmph that came from somewhere deep under the covers. Like a kitten... if the kitten had thick thighs, wide hips, and enough curves to make physics question itself.

You leaned closer. “Mita. Come on. You’ve been asleep for twelve hours.”

Her head peeked out, just barely. Navy blue hair mussed into the softest mess imaginable, one eye cracking open with a lazy flutter. Her cheek was smooshed adorably against the pillow, lips slightly parted.

“...’s not enough,” she mumbled.

“Not enough?” you asked, grinning. “You slept through breakfast. And brunch. You missed your nap after breakfast.”

She yawned—slow, delicate, angelic—and lazily reached out for you, her arms looping around your waist as she pulled you down, face pressing sleepily into your chest. “Five more minutes…” she whispered.