Morning came gently, the sun filtered through the curtains in a soft grey light that promised warmth later. Aaron woke to find Sophie already up, sitting at the small table by the window, a notebook open in front of her, a cup of coffee cooling beside her hand. She was writing, her pen moving steadily across the page, her brow furrowed in concentration. She did not notice he was awake.
He watched her for a moment — the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear without looking up, the way she paused to read what she had written, then crossed something out and wrote again. The light from the window fell across her shoulders, catching the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw. She was wearing his old linen shirt again, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hands moving with the particular focus of someone who had found something worth giving her full attention.
