You lay tucked in Din’s arms, your back to his chest. He is warm, and the window is open, and hope filters through the parted curtains on a gentle breeze. With the storm passed, the sky is bright, the sun dazzling. The future unwinds like a tangled chain, swinging free and boundless from your grasp. You can have anything, be anything—so long as you are with him.
From the window sill, a bird chirps. The sound swoops up and down like the sudden rise and fall of a carpet of rolling hills.
“What was that?” Din’s sleep-filled voice tickles the hair at the nape of your neck.
You smile, bending your face closer to his bicep. “A nighthawk.”
