On Saturday morning, I awoke to an uncomfortable dryness in my throat. As I blinked away the remnants of sleep, I instinctively reached for my table, only to realize that the bedside table was devoid of any water.
A groan escaped my lips as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cool floor beneath my feet jolting me further into consciousness. The memories of yesterday flooded back—his unexpected departure, the lingering silence that hung between us. Anger simmered beneath the surface, but what could I truly do about it?
As I made my way to the dining table, my stomach knotted at the thought of encountering Roman. He was already there, sipping from a glass of water, his posture relaxed and casual. My gaze instinctively drifted toward the kitchen, where the faint aroma of coffee lingered, suggesting he had been up for some time. In my pajamas, I walked towards him, each step heightening the anticipation in my chest.
