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The morning breeze smells of dew and flowers as it enters the room through the open window. Like slow dancers, the white curtains gently move back and forth, following the breeze.
Their thin fabric does little to stop the morning sun as it slowly climbs the bed’s length. The bedroom position was the main reason you chose this house to rent. Melina insisted.
The sun was supposed to act as a natural alarm, getting you moving early. And it did, if only for a month. Melina still wakes up if she has things to do, but you quickly went back to needing the alarms in your phone.
But this early Saturday morning, the rays are already reaching all the way to your chest, yet neither of you has moved.
She’s laying on her side, facing you, a bit lower on the bed than she was during the night. The sunlight forms a halo over her shoulder. Her hand is reaching for you, her fingers only just brushing against your arm.
In the morning light, her hair looks almost pink. Her eyebrows keep a more consistent darker tone, as to be closer to the black of her eye tattoo. You never understood how she managed to bear the pain of getting it.
Your eyes trail lower, past her — very kissable — nose and to her lips. They are a bit chapped and her mouth is slightly open.
Her other hand is resting next to her face. Her scars are most noticeable there. From her palms they twist and climb on her hands and shoulders, leading to her heart, where the biggest patch of the healed skin lies. There, the scars resemble tangled thorns, only partly hidden by her camisole.
The story of how she got those scars is a dark one, and you shake your head to push it away. A wave of affection overwhelms you, and you take her hand in yours. A faint smile forms on her lips and she squeezes your hand.
Then, her eye is open, looking at you with fondness. Her smile widens, and nothing can rival its warmth as she quietly rolls over to you. Gently but firmly she pushes you to the side, just enough so she can be the big spoon.
You feel the heat of her breath on your nape, then a soft kiss. A few moments after she talks, her voice dry and rough from sleep but always carrying her characteristic gentleness.
“Morning, honey.”