I woke up slowly.
The morning light slipped through the curtains.
For a moment,
I didn't remember where I was.
Then—
everything came back.
I turned slightly.
He was still there.
Lying beside me—
on the other side of the pillow.
My heart skipped.
Not fast like yesterday—
just… different.
His eyes were still closed.
He looked calm.
For a second,
I just watched him.
Then suddenly—
I realized what I was doing
and quickly looked away.
I carefully sat up,
trying not to make noise.
But the bed moved slightly.
"…You're awake,"
his voice came, still a little rough from sleep.
I froze for a second.
"…Yeah."
I looked at him again—
and this time,
his eyes were open.
Neither of us spoke.
"…Did you sleep well?" he asked.
"…I think so," I said quietly.
I nodded slightly.
"…I'll make coffee," I said.
Without waiting for a reply,
I got off the bed and walked out.
I wasn't sure why—
but staying there felt… difficult.
The kitchen felt normal.
Too normal.
Like nothing had happened.
I took a kettle.
But my mind wasn't quiet.
After a moment,
I heard footsteps behind me.
"You didn't have to leave like that,"
he said softly.
I didn't turn around immediately.
"…I just came to make coffee."
"For both of us," I added.
"…Okay."
I poured water into the kettle
and took out two cups.
He didn't go back.
He stayed.
I could feel him there—
closer than usual.
Not touching.
But not far either.
And somehow…
that felt more noticeable than anything else.
The faint smell of coffee slowly filled the space.
The kettle clicked softly as it heated.
I opened one of the instant coffee sticks,
pouring it into the cup.
He was still standing behind me.
Quiet.
"…You didn't have to come here," I said.
"I know," he answered.
"…But I didn't want to stay there alone."
I stopped for a second.
Something about that
felt different.
"…It's just the same house," I said softly.
"…It doesn't feel the same."
I didn't turn around.
But my grip on the cup tightened slightly.
The kettle clicked off.
I poured the hot water slowly.
When I turned—
he was closer than I expected.
For a second,
we just looked at each other again.
I quickly handed him the cup.
"…Here."
"Thanks," he said quietly.
We stood there—
holding our cups.
Not moving.
Like neither of us knew
how to go back to how things were before.
We sat down together.
The space between us wasn't far—
but it still felt noticeable.
He looked at me.
I looked down at my cup.
Neither of us spoke.
A few quiet moments passed like that.
"…Final exams are coming soon," he said.
I blinked slightly.
The sudden change of topic caught me off guard.
"We still have to finish your presentation."
"…I don't really understand that chapter," I admitted.
He looked at me—
like he already expected that answer.
"…I know," he said quietly.
I looked up at him this time.
"…You do?"
"You always get stuck there," he replied.
There was something strangely comforting about it.
Like he understood me—
even in small things.
I looked at him, a little surprised.
"…Now?"
"Why not?" he said.
"We have time."
I hesitated for a moment—
then nodded.
We moved to the table.
I brought my notes.
He sat beside me—
not too close,
but not far either.
"Show me where you don't understand," he said.
I pointed at the page.
"…Here."
He leaned in slightly.
His shoulder almost brushed mine.
I tried to focus on the page—
but it wasn't easy.
"You're overthinking this part," he said.
"It's simpler than it looks."
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Somehow…
it made everything easier to follow.
"So from here," he said,
pointing at the page,
"you just have to connect this part with—"
I nodded.
But I wasn't really listening anymore.
My eyes stayed on the page—
but my attention didn't there.
I was too aware of how close he was.
His shoulder brushed mine lightly.
My grip on the pen tightened a little.
"…You're not listening," he said.
I blinked and looked at him quickly.
"…I am."
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Then tell me what I just said."
I opened my mouth—
but nothing came out.
"…Exactly," he said quietly.
There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
I looked away, embarrassed.
"…You're distracting."
"…Me?" he repeated.
I didn't answer.
For a second,
the air between us felt different again.
He didn't say anything for a moment.
Then quietly—
he looked back at the page.
"…Focus," he said.
But his voice was softer this time.
"…I am," I replied,
though I wasn't completely sure.
This time,
I tried harder to pay attention.
He continued explaining—
slower than before.
Like he knew I needed time.
And somehow…
I started to understand.
Not just the chapter—
but him too.
The morning passed quietly.
Filled with small explanations,
and even smaller silences.
Nothing was said about last night.
But somehow…
it stayed with us.