A Day in the Life of Amy

The morning light slipped softly through Fiona’s loft windows, painting the walls in gold. Amy stirred beneath the linen sheets, Max curled at her feet as if he belonged there. She blinked awake, disoriented for only a moment before the night before came rushing back.

Fiona, asleep beside her, one arm draped lazily across Amy’s waist. The steady rhythm of her breathing was a comfort Amy hadn’t realized she needed.

For once, there was no noise in her head. No questions, no tug-of-war between what felt safe and what felt right. Just warmth. Just Fiona.

Amy lay there watching her, memorizing the way the morning sun kissed Fiona’s curls, the softness in her features when the world wasn’t watching. She wanted to bottle this feeling—this peace—and carry it with her forever.

Fiona stirred, opening her eyes slowly. A sleepy smile curved her lips. “You’re staring.”

Amy flushed, grinning. “You caught me.”

“Don’t stop,” Fiona murmured, pulling her closer. “I like it.”

They stayed like that for what felt like hours—tangled limbs, whispered laughter, the kind of quiet intimacy that didn’t need proving. When Fiona finally got up to make coffee, Amy padded barefoot after her, watching the way she moved around the kitchen like it was a dance.

“You look good here,” Amy said without thinking.

Fiona glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “In my own kitchen?”

Amy shook her head, leaning against the counter. “I mean… you. Us. This. It feels right.”

Fiona’s gaze softened, and she set down the mug she was holding. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

Amy crossed the space between them, sliding her arms around Fiona’s waist. The kiss that followed was slower this time, less desperate, more certain—like a promise.

The rest of the day unfolded in fragments of joy. A walk with Max along the river. Fiona snapping candid photos of Amy when she wasn’t looking. Lunch at a tucked-away café, their knees brushing under the table.

It wasn’t glamorous or dramatic. It was real. And for the first time in a long time, Amy realized she wasn’t just existing anymore—she was living.

That night, curled back in Fiona’s loft, Amy whispered into the quiet, “I don’t want this to end.”

Fiona kissed her temple. “Then don’t let it.”

Amy closed her eyes, holding onto the moment as tightly as she could. Because deep down, she knew life had a way of interrupting happiness. And sooner or later, the outside world would come knocking.

But not tonight. Tonight was theirs.