NARRATIVE POV
The door creaked softly as Miles pushed it open, the bright light from the open window filled the room, and there he found the person he had been searching for. His Tia.
The light shone on her slightly turned face, highlighting the golden hue under her soft olive skin, which he ached to reach out and stroke with the side of his hand. The wind kicked up slightly and blew strands of her wild chestnut-brown hair. His mind pulled forth the memory of its silkiness between his fingers. Late at night, while she slept by his side, he had spent a great deal of time memorizing the softness of her, and hopefully, after today, he would no longer be forced to wait until bedtime to be granted opportunities to reach out and touch her. He always wanted to touch her at any time of the day.
