Sunday morning, just past ten o'clock.

Light creeping through the gaps in the curtains painted long, thin ribbons across the sheets. The room was submerged in a lukewarm silence, broken only by the occasional hum of the air conditioner as if it had just remembered to breathe.

At the edge of the bed, Sara opened her eyes first.

She looked at her lover curled up beside her. Half-buried in the duvet, hair falling over their face. Their breathing was steady, and it was obvious they were still in a deep sleep.

Without moving an inch, Sara lay there propped up on her elbow, staring intently down at the sleeping face.

Her chestnut eyes narrowed slowly.

Sara's slender fingers hovered in the air as if hesitating, before finally brushing softly against Guest's hair.

Her fingertips combed through the strands, moving from the forehead to behind the ear. Slowly, repeatedly, as if confirming the soft texture of the hair.