47. Zayne

Myla is back home. After the sleepless nights with her by my side, she's finally back home, where she belongs. It feels as though the world had regained its vibrant colors, and the weight of my worries lifted from my weary shoulders.

Holding her in my arms, I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the steady rhythm that assures me she is indeed real and not a figment of my imagination. The scent of her hair, the familiar touch of her hand on my cheek, it all makes me feel as if all the pieces of my scattered world had finally found their rightful place. And I'm complete.

We spent the whole morning making love. I'd call it fucking but it'd sound crude and devoid of everything we felt in those intimate moments. I kissed her waist and traced my fingertips along the curve of her spine, savoring the goosebumps that appeared in response to my touch. I made sure she knew how devoted I was to her, how her presence in my life had turned me into a better version of myself, how deepl