For a few seconds, I stayed completely still, half-confused, trying to understand where I was.
The light slipped through the cracks of the curtain, tracing golden lines across the sheets. The room carried a faint scent of wine mixed with that woody cologne of his it had a taste I couldn't name.
The sun hit straight on my face, and lazily I rolled to the side, trying to hide under the pillow and found something warm.
A firm chest, with a scent that brought back too many memories at once.
Still groggy with sleep, I stretched out my hand to touch it. Beneath my fingers it was solid, warm, rising and falling with the rhythm of a slow breath the sound now clear, right by my ear.
It felt too real to be a dream.
Reality struck me slowly, like a flash from the back of my mind.
With my eyes wide open, the memories of last night rushed in all at once the muffled laughter, the touch of hands, the taste of wine, his body pressed over mine.
My heart started racing again, and heat rose to my cheeks. Almost without thinking, I buried my face against his chest.
For a while I stayed like that, eyes closed, trying to make sense of what I felt. Guilt and pleasure intertwined. I could still feel his kisses, the weight of his hands exploring every inch of me, the rough sound of his voice whispering my name.
I didn't know if what I'd done was right but I knew, with an almost painful certainty, that I had loved every second of it.
My slight movement seemed to wake him. His breathing changed, and soon that low, husky voice came, still wrapped in sleep.
"Good morning…"
I opened my eyes slowly and looked at him. He was still lying beside me, hair tousled, face half hidden by the pillow's shadow. One arm rested over my waist, and that touch made me painfully aware of how our bodies were still intertwined.
"Good morning…" I murmured, my voice trembling a little.
He smiled lazily, eyes half-open. The hand resting over the sheet moved, tracing slow circles on my skin. A shiver ran down my spine.
"You move a lot in your sleep," he murmured in that deep, teasing tone.
"And you talk in yours," I shot back. I wasn't even sure I'd really slept I'd passed out too fast but I wasn't about to lose a playful argument that early.
He raised an eyebrow, amusement lighting his expression.
"Really? What did I say?"
"My name."
He laughed quietly. "Then at least I've got good taste."
"Modest," I teased.
"Realistic."
We stayed quiet after that, just listening to the ticking clock on the wall and enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies.
He was watching me I could tell without even looking. I could feel his gaze wandering slowly over my face, down my neck, following every bit of skin the sheet didn't cover.
"Thinking about what happened?" he asked after a moment.
"A little."
"And?"
"And… I don't know what to think."
He shifted slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looked at me.
"Do you regret it?"
I shook my head, answering firmly. "No. I don't."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Then everything's fine," he murmured. "Because I don't either."
That sounded like a small confession an exhale of relief. Maybe even a promise.
He leaned closer, and the kiss that followed carried no rush, no need to prove anything. It was slow, gentle, full of care. His fingers tangled in my hair, drawing me nearer. I closed my eyes and let the moment hold me.
When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against mine and sighed.
When our eyes met again, we both laughed softly for no reason at all though it felt like our hearts were beating in the same rhythm.
We stayed there a while longer, until he finally stood up. His hair was even messier now, the sheet sliding down around his hips. Still lying there, I couldn't help stealing a few more glances. He picked up the shirt from the floor and put it on slowly, catching my stare with a half-smile.
"Coffee?"
"That depends. Do you know how to make it?"
"That depends. Can you survive bad coffee?"
I laughed, sitting up. "After last night, I think I can survive anything."
He shook his head, chuckling. "Okay, I'll remember that when you start judging me later."
When he left the room, I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to hold on to everything I felt. The scent of his perfume still lingered in the air, mixed with the sunlight — already turning into one of those memories that feel permanent.
The room, which had seemed strange when I woke up, now felt almost like mine.
I stood up slowly, wrapped the sheet around me, and looked around for my clothes scattered across the floor from the night before. As I searched, he came back and caught me crouched by the edge of the bed.
He only looked at me for a second before laughing.
"I'm pretty sure I didn't tear anything," he teased.
I pretended not to hear, though my face burned.
"Here," he said, setting down a towel and an oversized white shirt on the bed. "Take a shower first coffee will be ready soon."
He left again. The moment the door closed, I covered my face with one hand, trying not to laugh. Despite what he'd said, I was far from convinced nothing had been torn last night had been… intense.
The shirt reached halfway down my thighs. I couldn't help noticing the words printed on it: Mechanical Engineering Student Council.
I still didn't know what he did for work, but it was definitely a clue.
After the shower, I walked out into the living room.
Amora was lying on the rug; as soon as she saw me, her ears perked up, and she wagged her tail, trotting happily in my direction.
"Hey, pretty girl," I said, crouching down to pet her. "Someone looks happy to see me."
"Looks like I'm being replaced already," came a voice behind me.
I turned and saw him leaning against the kitchen counter two cups of coffee in one hand and, somehow, a plate of still-steaming bread balanced in the other. His hair was damp, and his almost-shy smile pulled one out of me too.
"You used to work as a juggler or something?" I laughed, watching him manage the impossible balance.
"Let's just say practice comes from survival," he joked, walking over and handing me the cup. "Not everyone's born with the talent to impress both women and dogs at once."
"Oh, right a true multitasking hero."
I laughed, taking the mug from his hands. The warm aroma washed away the last of my sleep. The coffee was strong just right. I sat down at the table while he took the seat across from me.
"Fair enough."
"Can I ask you something?" I said after a while.
"Sure."
"Did you plan all this?"
"All what?"
"Last night. Us."
He shook his head, watching the steam curl from his cup. "No. But do you think it would change anything if I had?"
I didn't know. Maybe I didn't want to. What we had right now was enough simple, alive, and beautiful as it was.
He watched me quietly, and the faint smile on his lips turned serious. "You're different, you know that?"
I frowned. "Is that good or bad?"
"Scary."
I laughed softly. "You have a strange way of giving compliments."
"That's not what I meant," he said, slightly embarrassed. "I meant it in a good way. You're like a magnet and I can't stop being drawn to you. And I like it."
The words echoed inside me.
"So… what do you feel then?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though my voice came out softer than I intended.
He hesitated. His gaze drifted away for a moment, then returned to me.
"That something started between us. And I don't know where it's going."
I smiled, not even sure why. Maybe because it was the first time he said something I'd been feeling too but was too scared to admit.
"Then we'll find out," I said.
He smiled, as if agreeing. Standing up, he walked around the table and sat beside me.
We stayed there, side by side, sharing the same space, the same coffee, while Amora curled up peacefully at our feet.
Time moved both fast and slow.
I leaned my head on his shoulder as I gazed out the window. The city outside had been awake for hours the faint sound of traffic reaching us but inside, our world was different. Smaller. Simpler.
He turned his face toward me, his eyes filled with a new kind of tenderness.
I touched his arm, and he laced his fingers through mine without needing to say a word.
We stayed like that, laughing quietly over small things the foam in the coffee, the way Amora snored softly, the bread that was still too hot.
Then he leaned in, resting his forehead against mine, and the kiss that followed came as naturally as breathing soft, sweet, and full of warmth.
And it was right there, between the smell of coffee and the quiet of that morning, that I realized:
the day might have just begun,
but something inside us
had already changed forever.