The morning air was crisp, carrying the promise of autumn through the streets as Sam and Selena walked side by side toward the laundromat. The sun wasn't up yet, but the city felt more alive, more hopeful, in the soft predawn glow. They didn't hold hands, but their hands brushed, and each glance shared more warmth than any greeting.
Selena paused at a crosswalk, glancing up at the sky. He reached out, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. She looked down at him and smiled—small, private, like she'd found strength overnight.
"You ready?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, leaning close to whisper, "Always."
At the laundromat, their routine unfolded with small moments that felt big. She dropped blankets into washers. He stood beside her, brushing a forefinger across the top of her hand when the soap tray slid open. Each time she turned, he leaned in—forehead to forehead, cheek to cheek, lips meeting in whispers, quick and loving. With every kiss, she felt grounded, seen, loved.
