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The days that followed blurred into one another, stitched together by sunlight, salt air, and the quiet intimacy of being utterly alone with each other.
Their honeymoon became its own small world.
Mornings often found them wrapped in tangled sheets, the ocean breeze slipping through open doors, carrying the sound of waves and the warmth of dawn. Zayn would wake first, watching Lena sleep—one hand resting over the gentle curve of her belly, as though grounding himself in the reality of what they were becoming.
When she stirred, he kissed her slowly, reverently, as if there were no rush. As if time itself had softened around them.
They swam in the sea when the sun was still low, Zayn never straying far from her, his hand always ready, always protective. He laughed more here—real laug
