She stares at the screen, but the words won’t come. Her fingers rest on the keyboard, unmoving, waiting for inspiration that isn’t there. With a sigh, she pushes a hand through her hair and adjusts her glasses.

Then, a soft kiss on her cheek. She turns, and there he is—the warmth in his eyes, the quiet kind of love in the way he looks at her.

“Writing going well?” he asks, his voice low, familiar.

She smiles, but there’s something behind it, something she doesn’t put into words.

“It was… until you decided to distract me.” She keeps it light, teasing, but somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought lingers: What would I write if no one were watching?

He chuckles and kisses her again, slower this time. She lets herself lean into it, lets herself forget for a moment, as if maybe the words she’s chasing are hidden in the spaces between them.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, but there’s more to it than that.

She nods, watching as he moves into the kitchen, easy, at home. The steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board, the scent of fresh ingredients filling the air—she wants to hold onto this. The simplicity of it. The comfort of him.

But even as she sits there, breathing it in, she knows: Nothing lasts forever.