Chapter 32 : Soft Mornings and Quiet Decisions

The shrill chirp of Elias's alarm pierced the early stillness. Soft light seeped through the curtains, painting the room in a gentle gold. Anya stirred, eyelids fluttering against the whisper of dawn. The warmth of Elias's arm around her felt like a promise, and for a moment, she hesitated wanting to stay just a second longer.

He turned over, voice low and groggy, "Five more minutes?"

She smiled, pressing a kiss into the curve of his chest. "You've already had too many of those."

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling in his throat as he stretched. "I've got to go in early. Big presentation today."

"Is that the quarterly review one?" she asked, propping herself on one elbow.

He nodded, running a finger gently along her jawline. "The very one. Charts, graphs, and way too many acronyms."

"Sounds thrilling," she teased.

"Oh, I'm bringing sexy back... in the form of spreadsheets."

She giggled, brushing her fingers through his hair. "You're such a dork."

He leaned in, kissed her forehead. "You love it."

"I really do," she admitted quietly.

He got out of bed and reached for his shirt, slipping it over his head. "I'll grab coffee before I head in."

Dread fluttered in her chest, she loved being here, but knew work beckoned for her too. She glanced at the time. "I was going to head back to my flat, start a fresh load of laundry. Reset my brain."

He paused, one sock halfway on. "That makes sense."

As he stood to grab his blazer, he turned to her, warm eyes locking with hers. "But how about this, I'll swing by your place tonight, around eight. Pick you up. You can take your time, clean, unpack, work. If you need anything, call me."

Her breath caught. "That would... that would be amazing."

He squeezed her hand. "Your place today. Mine tomorrow. We keep it balanced. Do whatever you want, just don't rush back."

She watched sunlight frame his face. "I wish I could take you with me."

He smiled, brushing her hair from her cheek. "You can't. But I'll see you later."

They shared a slow, lingering kiss. She rested her forehead against his.

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"Count on it," he replied, his voice low.

He slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. The door closed behind him, and soon, the sound of the shower began, warm water pattering softly.

Anya exhaled slowly. The world outside felt far away.

She gazed at the spot where he'd been, then slid out of bed, feeding floorboards with quiet steps. She dressed in leggings and one of his shirts soft cotton against her skin grabbed her bag, laptop, and overnight toothbrush, and left the room with the soft echo of her footsteps down the hall.

.....

In her own flat, the contrast washed over her: quiet, still, familiar. The fridge stood nearly bare a single ketchup bottle, half-empty oat milk, a splash of honey. She paused, exhaling.

The takeout mussed in the bin reminded her of the night before. Trace elements of spice lingered in the air, like fading laughter.

She started the laundry unmade bedding, yesterday's clothes pulling on the plug, letting the machine hum to life. She rinsed the pans, washed the dishes, wiped down the counter. Coffee cups and utensils danced in warm suds, then dried and stacked neatly.

Her phone buzzed.

Elias: Just remembered… don't forget your umbrella. It might rain later.

She smiled, thumb tapping quickly.

Anya: Thanks, weather man. You want me to pack your socks too?

Elias: Only the left ones. You keep stealing the rights.

She chuckled, setting the phone aside.

She organized the spices left on her shelf, garlic powder, turmeric and lined breakfast jars of oats, chia seed mixes, and coffee beans, their aroma strong and fresh. She folded bed sheets, pressed pillowcases smooth, and made the bed smoothing faded covers that felt like a return to home. His absence was a warm ache.

She folded her sleepwear. On the counter, she arranged a swap of his shirt and her work top. She packed her laptop, two notebooks, pen case, and charger in a tote. She glanced at the clock 10:30 a.m.—perfect timing.

....

Midday arrived like a calm tide. She made herself a simple lunch, avocado toast with lemon and chili flakes. She sat by the window, watching people pass by on the street below.

Her mind drifted. She remembered Elias's hand tracing circles on her back the night before. How he'd whispered, "I feel most like myself when I'm with you."

Was she supposed to feel this close to someone so quickly?

She sipped water and tidied as she went, vacuumed near the rugs, swiped dust from the shelves, stacked magazines. The apartment, once abandoned, now hummed with regained life.

By three, the dryer chimed. She plucked out the warm clothes, soft sweaters, jeans, his borrowed shirt and folded them, scent lingering. The sense of care calmed her: Maiden's hair earrings in a dish, lip balm beside a clean mug, his used mug perched atop hers in the rack.

Small traces of their time together.

Another buzz from her phone:

Elias: Presentation went well. Want me to bring dinner tonight?

Anya: I'll feed myself for lunch; just don't work too hard. See you at eight. 🫶

He replied with a heart.

She lit a candle by the sink. The city's hum crept in through the window honking of cars, distant chatter, night settling into routine.

Her butter and spices waited for a simple pasta: garlic, olive oil, chili flakes. The stove's flame flickered magic across the pan. She pulled tender noodles through bubbling emerald sauce the way cooking felt like creation, reclamation, restoration.

At seven, she wiped sweat from her brow, closing the windows against the cool night breeze. She plucked a mint-scented candle and a fresh wine glass from the cabinet, placing them beside the stove. Her apartment smelled clean, alive, ready.

.....

Ten minutes later, the door clicked.

She lowered the flame, heart fluttering.

"Evening," he said, smiling softly, blazer over one arm less polished than morning, but worn comfortably. It fit.

"About time," she teased, setting the wine.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Traffic was a nightmare. But I would've run here if I had to."

"Romantic," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I try."

They cooked together: Anya stirring noodles in a heated sauce, him slicing bread. She passed him basil for garnish. He grated Parmesan, shaking crumbs over capers and drizzled pasta.

"Smells incredible," he said, breathing it in.

She laughed. "Don't act surprised. I cook... sometimes."

They ate at the little bar counter. Spoons dug into comfort in cardboard shapes the kind that feels like you two cooked it together. They shared a glass, finger-tipped smiles, comfort, sincereness.

"So," he began, voice soft, leaning in. "How are you doing today? Really."

She paused, spoon mid-air. "I... I missed you."

He tucked hair behind her ear. "Missed you more."

She rolled her eyes with a soft smile. "Glad to see you still feel that way, even after I stole all your socks."

He laughed, warmth glowing around him. "That just makes you memorable."

They both leaned back, the candlelight catching in their eyes.

"I like this," she said after a beat. "Us. Dinner. Our spaces... merging."

"Me too." He kissed the back of her hand. "So much."

Anya closed her eyes. "But, are we moving too fast?"

The question hovered in the candlelight, honest and delicate.

He didn't flinch. He reached for her face, thumb brushing her cheek.

"You think so?"

She looked up at him against the backdrop of pot simmering, the low hum of the fridge, city chatter outside. "Sometimes... I feel scared."

He stood and gently lifted her to her feet, arms firm around her waist.

"Hey... look at me." She did.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "We set our own pace. Not fast. Not slow. Ours. If it ever feels like too much, you say so. And we adjust. Together."

She released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She leaned into him, chin to his chest. "Okay."

He kissed her hair, gentle. "Good."

They ate again, slower, more focused. They shared bites him feeding her pasta, her leaning over to kiss his temple. They finished with warm bread dipped in butter, dipped in red wine, dipping into the moment.

After clearing the dishes, she slipped into his shirt again, soft, familiar.

He nodded approvingly. "You look beautiful in that."

His voice was rough with affection, eyes tender.

She blushed. "It smells like you."

"That's the idea," he said, guiding her to the sofa.

They moved to the couch, arms wrapped, legs tangled, wine glass refilled from the cork. Acoustic guitar murmured low in the corner.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Tomorrow… brunch here?"

He smiled, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. "Wish I could. I've got work in the morning, early call with the Berlin team."

She groaned playfully. "Corporate life ruins everything."

He laughed. "You're one to talk. Don't you have a shift tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "but brunch felt like a dreamy idea."

He squeezed her hand. "Let's do brunch Saturday. I'll bring the coffee if you make the pancakes."

"Deal," she said, leaning in to kiss his jaw, slow and thoughtful. "Goodnight then?"

He nudged her nose with his. "Only if you promise to cuddle. I've got six hours of sleep waiting to be maximized."

"Always."

They curled into each other as the candle flickered out, two people wrapped in warmth, stillness, and soft beginnings. Their hearts beat steadier together, learning to build a world, one quiet decision at a time.