The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Layla was sprawled out beside me, her hair a messy halo against the pillow, her bare skin glowing in the warm light.
She looked peaceful, utterly serene, and I couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto my lips.
It wasn't just the aftermath of last night, the quiet intensity, the whispered promises, the way her body had responded to mine. It was her, entirely.
She was beautiful, not just in the way people always said—her striking features, her smile, her laugh—but in the way she existed, unfiltered and unapologetic.
I lay there for a moment longer, letting myself take her in. The curve of her back, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the faint marks on her skin from where my lips had lingered too long.