Anne stirred slowly, her lashes fluttering open as the morning light filtered into the room, soft and warm.
The comforting weight of his arms was still around her, his heartbeat steady against her ear.
She smiled faintly, her hand moving up to gently touch his face, tracing the familiar curve of his cheek with trembling fingers.
She didn't even realize she was holding her breath, as if afraid this moment would disappear if she made a sound.
As she gazed at him, her heart stirred with memories — not of stormy nights or tragic partings, but of a quiet afternoon they had once shared.
She could still feel it vividly —
that day they sat curled up on the couch, tangled together with lazy smiles, a game controller in her hands, their two small dogs napping against them.
The soft flicker of candles.
The low hum of laughter between them.
The way the sunlight had poured through the window, bathing them in gold.
It was just like now.
Her fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, and she leaned in a little closer, her voice barely a whisper,
"You're still as beautiful as ever... your eyes, your face... I could never get enough of you."
She closed her eyes for a second, feeling tears press behind her lids — not from sadness, but from overwhelming, aching happiness.
Unseen by her, he had already woken the moment her hand touched his skin.
He kept his eyes closed, drinking in her words, the way her voice trembled with love.
Inside, he felt the same — the same overwhelming sense of wonder that she was here again, in his arms, after everything.
"You are also just as beautiful, Anne,"he thought silently,
"Your voice... it hasn't changed. It's still the same gentle music that I could listen to forever."
He wanted to open his eyes, to whisper her name, to tell her that he remembered everything too —
the afternoons spent in each other's arms, the easy laughter, the way her head fit perfectly under his chin.
But he stayed still, selfishly savoring the tenderness of the moment a little longer.
And in that small, precious slice of time, the past and present blurred together —
and all that existed was Anne , and him ,and the love that had survived even death itself.