I stare at the screen, but the words blur before my eyes. I've been struggling with the documentary for hours, every sentence, every phrase that feels like it's being pulled through thick honey. I groan softly, lean back, and rub my tired eyes. Then I hear a soft giggle. "That bad?" Lena suddenly appears beside my table, a cup of tea in her hand. Her scent—warm, sweet, like vanilla with a hint of book pages—wafts up to me...

I woke up, not to an alarm clock, but to the gentle weight of a hand stroking my chest. The light was soft and gray, a typical morning, but when I opened my eyes, everything was different. Lena lay beside me, her hair a messy halo on the pillow, and she smiled when she saw I was awake. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she whispered, leaning in to kiss my lips. It was a warm, sleepy kiss that tasted of her and of the night. "I...