Just like every other morning, I got up, brushed, and made myself a cup of tea. For the first time in a while, I sat on the back porch.
As I sipped the warm tea, a soft gust of wind passed me — warm, familiar... and scented.
I smiled. She was here.
A familiar voice echoed from behind. "You left your door open, Mister Poet."
I didn't even have to look. No one else was this strange. No one else appeared with the wind like she did.
Sofia had arrived.
I stood up and looked at her — arms full of different berries and other forest-picked things.
I laughed. "Did you go hunting in a forest or something? And what even are those?"
Sofia frowned. "I thought you'd come running and hug me."
"Disappointed?" I teased.
She pouted. "Just a little."
I looked again at everything she carried. "What is all this?"
"Just some berries and stuff we could eat. I felt bad, so I wanted to make breakfast for you." she replied
I burst out laughing. "You disappeared for a whole day to find berries so that you could cook me breakfast? That's... incredibly sweet. Insane, but sweet."
A little annoyed, she rolled her eyes. "Well, are you going to help me or not?"
She walked into the kitchen, and I followed. Without thinking, I hugged her from behind — no warning, no reason. I just did.
My arms wrapped around her waist. My head rested on her shoulder.
"Idiot," I whispered, "I told you not to leave. Why did you?"
Sofia froze, her face turning red.
"I'm sorry… now stop," she mumbled, her voice quiet and shy.
I bit her cheek softly and leaned closer to her ear. "So... how do you like the taste of your own medicine?"
Sofia squealed and started hitting me.
I caught her wrists, chuckling. "I'm way too hungry to fight now. Let's eat first. We can fight later."
She nodded.
We cooked together. I still didn't understand her cooking style — it's unlike anything I've seen. Her food tastes amazing, but her methods? Definitely... mysterious.
After breakfast, we sat on the porch. Her head rested on my shoulder. Her hands gently held mine.
She said softly, "I'm glad you outgrew 'Kid of Wonders.'"
But she didn't know — it was her love that helped me outgrow him.
"Tell me something about yourself," I asked.
She froze, like I'd asked something I shouldn't have.
"Are you okay?" I asked gently.
She nodded, but I could tell she wasn't. I stood up, walked to her, and placed a hand on her forehead. Her skin was cold — she was sick.
Without thinking, I lifted her and took her to bed. She protested, insisting she was fine.
"You can take care of me," she whispered, "if you sit beside me and write a poem for me."
"As you wish," I smiled.
She fell asleep in my lap while I wrote.
Later, I gently woke her. "What do you want for lunch?"
"I'll cook."
"No, you won't," I said calmly. "But you can teach me."
She blinked. "You sure? My cooking style's kind of… weird."
"You guide me. I'll learn," I said, determined.
I carried her to the kitchen. She sat on the table, explaining everything step-by-step. It took me four tries and thirty minutes — but I nailed it.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Of course." I calmly said
"How did you learn to cook?" she asked
"I've been on my own since I was 14. Had to survive. What about you?"
She fell silent. Again, no answer about her past. Always avoiding.
I didn't push it.
We ate lunch — and surprisingly, it tasted really good.
After that, we returned to the porch. She sat in my lap, her arms around my hands, my arms around her waist. We stared at the sky in silence.
She began humming a strange tune. One I'd never heard before. It was calming, peaceful, and oddly familiar — like the first time I met her.
"Do you have ice cream?" she suddenly asked.
"I do," I replied, "but you're sick. No ice cream for now."
She turned, her eyes meeting mine. "Check again, Mister."
Somehow, her fever was gone.
"So... can I eat ice cream now?"
I smiled, paused, then said, "Can I kiss you?"
Her face turned red as a rose. She reached out,covered my eyes.
"You idiot," she said quietly, trying not to smile.
Then, still flustered, she climbed onto my chest, covering my eyes.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Sorry about this." she whispered
She leaned in and kissed me — one hand on my chest, the other still covering my eyes.
For a second, I thought I had died. For a second, I thought I'd reached heaven. Maybe both.
But my bad luck? I survived.
She stayed on top of me, both of us speechless, hearts beating like drums.
Finally, I whispered, "Sorry about that."
"Idiot," she whispered back.
"Wanna visit the old house?"
She nodded — still sitting on top of me.
"Well... you'll have to get off first."
Realizing the situation, she panicked, shouted "Idiot!" again, and started hitting me playfully.
We went to the abandoned house. The roses looked the same.
"Ten more months," she said confidently. "Then they'll bloom."
We watered the seeds, sat together for a while, and talked — about anything and everything.
As night approached, we returned home, had dinner, and just like before, she insisted on sharing a bed.
No boundaries crossed. Just two souls, holding each other.
But this time, I couldn't help but wonder… Would she still be here in the morning? Or vanish again — like the wind?
For now, I let the thought pass.
I simply held her. Because this moment — this now — was all I truly had.