The morning after opening night felt strangely quiet, as if the entire town was still recovering from the magic of the festival lights. Sunlight filtered weakly through the gray clouds, and the distant sounds of cleanup crews echoed faintly from the square. Inside the house on Maple Lane, the air was thick with the remnants of last night — the faint scent of cotton candy on Amina’s hoodie draped over the couch, the echo of laughter still lingering in the walls, and the heavy, unspoken weight of everything Elias and I had shared in the dark.
I woke up in his bed again, curled against his chest, his arm draped possessively over my waist. His breathing was slow and steady, but I knew he wasn’t fully asleep. His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip, a clingy, reassuring touch that had become o
