As usual, I woke up in the morning alone in the room. The faint sunlight filtered in through the thick curtains, painting soft golden lines across the floor. The first thing I registered was the absence of warmth beside me—not that I expected it.

The bed, as always, was untouched on his side, perfectly smooth and unwrinkled. It baffled me how he managed that. I’d spent the night, once again, curled up on the narrow couch by the window, my spine protesting every turn I made. Yet, the bed remained pristine, as if untouched by dreams.