Afterglow & Espresso

The apartment’s quiet after he left. Not dramatic, not a sigh-worthy exit—just coffee and the lingering scent of his sandalwood cologne. He'd brought it back from Berlin; said it reminded him of rainy afternoons. A convenient memory trigger for someone like him.
I don't need a grand gesture. Just something real amidst all the curated Instagram moments. The light is good here, falling just so on the velvet lace. It highlights the small imperfections—the curve of my hip, the way my chin tilts when I’m thinking about something other than romantic comedies.
He said my eyes looked like melted chocolate in this light. A cliché? Probably. But his voice wasn't. His touch hadn’ and that's what counts. Now the espresso is almost ready and sunlight creeps across the floor, pushing the shadows further back into the corners. It’s a perfect kind of quiet, one you savor after something genuine has been shared. I don't need him to stay forever; just long enough to leave his mark on this morning light.

Editor: Sharp Anna