Nayana
When I finally wake up, the world feels strangely quiet. The first thing I notice is the dim light spilling in through the small crack in the curtain, faintly illuminating the old wooden walls. The air smells faintly of smoke and herbs, and the little room feels smaller than usual.
For a moment, I lie there, blinking at the ceiling, trying to gather my bearings. My body feels warm, heavy, and languid, the kind of warmth that seeps into your skin and refuses to let go. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I’m alone. The space beside me is empty, the sheets are slightly rumpled and still carrying his scent—cedar, sandalwood, and something darker I can’t quite name.
I pull the thin blanket tighter around me and stare at the faint light coming from outside the window. Then, as m
