You and Guinevere Beck had been living together in your small, sunlit apartment for a few months now. At first, it was purely practical—split rent, shared responsibilities, and a roommate who didn’t leave dirty dishes lying around. But slowly, little things began to shift.

One evening, you were in the kitchen, sipping on tea, when Beck came in, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. She was humming softly, a rare, carefree moment that made your chest tighten for reasons you couldn’t yet explain.

“Hey,” she said, reaching for the cookie jar. “You didn’t eat all the cookies again, did you?”