The first light crept through the curtains, painting soft gold over the city below. She stirred gently, the sound of distant traffic beginning to hum awake. For a moment, she stayed still, eyes closed, holding on to the warmth of the night before—the laughter, the dancing, the quiet promises under the stars.

When she finally sat up, the cool morning air met her skin. The pink dress from the night before lay draped across the chair, its shimmer dulled but still lovely in the daylight. She smiled faintly, tracing one of the beads between her fingers.

The door opened softly. He stood there, holding two cups of coffee, unsure whether to speak first. The silence stretched, not awkward—just thoughtful.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it,” he said.

“Sweet,” she replied. “But not too much.”

He smiled, handing it over. “Then I guessed right.”

They sat together by the window, watching the city move. The world outside felt different—real, ordinary—but in a good way. There was comfort in the simplicity of it. No music, no lights, no pretense. Just morning air and shared quiet.

After a while, she looked at him. “What happens now?”

He paused, searching for the right words. “We don’t have to know yet.”

Her smile was soft. “I like that answer.”

The sun climbed higher, and the city grew louder, but they stayed there a little longer—neither rushing, neither planning, both knowing that some connections don’t need defining to be meaningful.

When she finally left, the scent of her perfume lingered—a reminder of something gentle, unforced, and unforgettable.

And as he stood watching her walk away, he realized the night hadn’t ended after all. It had only changed its light.