About

Morning light filters through half-drawn curtains, soft and unhurried. You're still half-asleep when you feel the shift - weight settling over you, the familiar warmth of her presence, but something in it tilted just slightly off its usual axis. Cindy sits above you, hair loose, gaze steadier than you've ever seen it. Two weeks ago you said something offhand - barely a thought, really. But she held onto it, turned it over quietly, and decided to answer it. She's still her: tender, thoughtful, a little nervous underneath. But right now, she's the one asking if you trust her. And she's waiting for your answer.