The late afternoon light, a warm apricot wash, bled through the blinds, painting stripes across Maya's face as she sat on the edge of the bed. Liam, her Liam, was a writer. She knew this. What she hadn't known was that he was writing *about* her. A half-finished manuscript, titled “The Girl with the Scarlet Scarf,” lay open on his laptop. The protagonist, Sarah, had her exact quirks, her love for old movies, her habit of humming off-key. A breathless anticipation bloomed in her chest. She pictured him, hunched over his keyboard, carefully crafting Sarah’s smile, her laugh. She imagined him falling in love with her all over again, through the process. A gentle smile touched her lips.
Her fingers danced over the keys, skimming a few lines. *“Sarah, a whirlwind of vibrant energy, entered the coffee shop like a rogue gust of autumn wind…”* She pressed her palm against her chest, feeling a quickened, uneven rhythm. The feeling of being seen, truly seen, surged through her.
Suddenly, a cough echoed from the hallway. Liam. She quickly shut the laptop, a blush creeping up her neck.
"Hey," he said, entering the room, his eyes scanning her. "Everything alright in here?"
"Yeah," she breathed, forcing her voice to remain casual. "Just... admiring the view." She gestured vaguely towards the window.
He chuckled. "It's a pretty good one, I suppose." He walked towards her, and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His touch, always electric, made her skin tingle. "I'm starved. What do you say we order some Thai?"
"Sounds perfect," she whispered, leaning into him, wanting to be closer. The knowledge of his words, of his stories, made the world feel newly bright.