(Michelle Lui's POV)
Mondays were supposed to be slow.
Groggy.
Messy.
Barely-holding-a-coffee-while-pretending-to-be-functional kinds of days.
But not today.
My heart woke up before I did.
It was embarrassing how fast I sat up the moment my alarm rang — like some lovesick Victorian lady checking the window for a letter from the front lines.
I groaned and stuck my head under my pillow.
I was thirty.
Thirty.
Mentally, at least.
I was supposed to be composed. Mature. Steady.
Not… whatever this fluttering, stomach-rolling, finger-twitching nonsense was.
But apparently my heart did not care about maturity.
It cared about a boy.
A boy who had called me yesterday in a voice that could soften the entire winter.
A boy who asked, very quietly:
"Can I see you Tomorrow?"
And I said yes.
Obviously.
--
Getting ready felt different
I didn't change my routine — not really.
Shower.
Light makeup.
Hair in soft waves.
My cream sweater dress.
Black tights.
