Chapter 34: Where Morning Feels Like Forever
The soft hush of early morning brushed through the trees as the sun crept above the horizon. Warm gold filtered through the window of Oriana's room, casting sleepy light over her sleeping form. Her lashes fluttered, shadows dancing across her cheeks. She looked peaceful—more peaceful than Anya had ever seen her.
Anya sat beside her on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them as if hugging the moment to herself. She watched Oriana sleep as the world outside stirred with waking birdsong and the faint sounds of life returning. The silence between them was the kind that wrapped around the soul like silk—delicate, meaningful, whole.
Anya's chest rose slowly, then fell. Her heart had learned a new rhythm in the days since she'd let Oriana all the way in.
She reached forward without thinking and brushed a loose strand of hair from Oriana's forehead. Her fingers lingered, memorizing the soft warmth of her skin, the fragile weight of love that had bloomed so quietly between them. Her touch stirred Oriana from sleep.
"Mmm…" Oriana murmured, eyes still closed. "What time is it?"
"Early," Anya whispered. "I didn't want to wake you."
Oriana cracked one eye open and blinked at her. "You're watching me sleep again."
"I can't help it," Anya confessed, a blush rising. "You look… so peaceful. Like even your dreams are beautiful."
Oriana rolled onto her side, propped up on her elbow. Her gaze met Anya's, sleepy and soft and unguarded. "If you're watching me dream, then maybe you're part of them."
Anya's breath caught. "That's… very cheesy."
"Is it working?"
"…Yes."
They laughed quietly, the sound blending with the wind that rustled the curtains. Outside, the sky wore its pale morning dress, and everything felt suspended in that in-between moment—neither night nor day, just them and the fragile stillness of love not needing to prove itself.
Oriana sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. "Come here."
Anya didn't hesitate. She scooted closer until they were side by side, and Oriana laid her head against Anya's shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, saying nothing, breathing in sync. The stillness spoke all that words never could.
"I used to be afraid of mornings," Oriana said softly, after a long pause.
"Why?"
"Because they meant facing the world again. Pretending. Holding myself together just enough to pass. But now…" She trailed off, turning her face toward Anya's neck. "Now I want mornings. I want them with you."
Anya closed her eyes, her throat tight with emotion. She took Oriana's hand in hers and intertwined their fingers. "I want every morning with you too."
Oriana looked up, eyes searching. "You really mean that?"
Anya nodded. "Yes. I want to fall asleep with your laugh in my ears. I want to wake up with your heart next to mine. I want to walk beside you even when the days are hard. Especially then."
Oriana leaned up and kissed her.
It wasn't urgent. It wasn't hurried.
It was quiet and sure, the kind of kiss that doesn't ask but gives. The kind that whispers, I'm here. I choose you.
When they broke apart, Oriana's eyes shimmered like sunlight on river water. "You always know what to say."
"I'm just saying what's true," Anya said softly, brushing her thumb against Oriana's cheek.
They spent the morning wrapped in that kind of calm. Brushing teeth side by side. Arguing over which cereal was superior. Laughing when Oriana spilled milk and tried to blame the cat. Anya teased her, Oriana pouted dramatically, and then chased Anya around the kitchen table until they both collapsed in laughter.
There was a lightness in the air that felt like spring settling into their bones.
Later, they walked to the park together. The city moved slowly on Sundays—less honking, fewer crowds. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, leaves whispering secrets to one another. Children played near the swings, and an old couple walked hand in hand with the kind of comfort that only years of love can build.
Anya watched them as Oriana sat beside her on a wooden bench.
"Do you think we'll still be like that one day?" Oriana asked, resting her head on Anya's shoulder again.
Anya tilted her head slightly. "Like what?"
"Still holding hands. Still laughing. Still… us."
Anya looked at her, and for the first time, saw not just the present but a future painted in soft strokes—Oriana in the kitchen humming tunelessly, Oriana curled up on rainy nights reading poetry aloud, Oriana smiling with lines at the corners of her eyes from too many days in the sun.
"I want to be," Anya said. "If you'll let me."
Oriana smiled, and that was enough.
They talked about small things—favorite childhood games, the weirdest food they'd ever eaten, silly high school rumors. Oriana laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes when Anya recounted her one and only attempt at karaoke. Anya blushed through the whole story, but hearing that laugh—it was worth every moment of embarrassment.
That laugh, light and clear like temple bells in spring, was now stitched into her memory.
As the afternoon sun started to dip, Oriana stood and held out her hand. "Come on."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
They walked past the old footbridge, beyond the edge of the park, until they reached a narrow alley where the scent of fried banana and sweet coconut hung in the air. Oriana led her to a tiny food stall Anya had never noticed before.
"This place makes the best khanom krok," Oriana whispered like it was a sacred secret.
They sat at the rickety plastic table, and the vendor brought out a tray of piping hot coconut-rice cakes, crispy on the edges and soft in the center. Oriana fed the first one to Anya, grinning as she watched her reaction.
"Oh my god," Anya moaned.
"I told you."
"Marry me."
Oriana laughed again, her whole body shaking. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
"You feed me the rest."
Anya did, one by one, until their fingers were sticky and their hearts a little fuller.
By the time they returned to Oriana's apartment, the sky was painted in soft orange and violet. The shadows were long, but nothing about the evening felt dark. They stood on the balcony, watching the world shift slowly into night.
"Do you ever get scared?" Anya asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
Oriana glanced sideways. "Of what?"
"That this isn't real. That maybe we're dreaming it all."
Oriana was quiet for a moment. Then she reached over and took Anya's hand, guiding it to her chest.
"Do you feel that?"
Anya nodded, her palm resting against the steady rhythm of Oriana's heart.
"Then it's real."
And Anya believed her.
Later that night, curled up beneath Oriana's sheets, their bodies warm and close, Anya traced circles on her lover's back.
"I used to think love would be this grand, explosive thing," she said softly. "But this… this is different."
"Yeah?"
"It's not fireworks. It's the quiet after. The calm. It's knowing you're not alone. It's hearing your laugh and feeling it echo in my chest."
Oriana turned to her, eyes tender. "You don't know what your words do to me."
"Then let me show you instead."
They kissed again. Slower this time. Deeper.
A kiss that tasted of coconut cakes and promises unspoken.
A kiss that said, Even when we are old and forgetful, I will still remember the sound of your laugh.
And when sleep came to them again, it came gently—like night wrapping around two hearts beating in harmony.