This version of him, standing in a quiet kitchen making breakfast, reaches somewhere different.
He turns, and our eyes meet.
For one horrible second, I remember exactly how his mouth felt against mine.
His expression does not change.
“Morning.”
I blink.
That is it? No awkward silence. No apology. No grim declaration that last night was a mistake.
Just morning.
“Morning.”
His gaze moves over my face.
“How’s your breathing?”
Of course.
“Fine.”
One eyebrow lifts.
I sigh. “A little scratchy. No worse than last night.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“Only when interrogated before coffee.”
He turns back to the counter.
A mug waits there.
For me.
I approach carefully. “Is that mine?”
“Yes.”
I pick it up and take a sip.
Cream. Sugar. Exactly right.
I lower the mug. “How do you know how I take my coffee?”
Zain looks at me over his own cup.
“I didn’t. I thought you might need it that way today.”
My heart does something foolish.
