Camille

You woke to the touch of a gentle breeze on your cheek. The sun gently flooded the room with golden light, filtering through the loosely drawn curtains. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the crunch of toast drifted through your sleep. Your heart began to beat faster, treacherously.

As you stretched, you heard a soft laugh. Opening your eyes, you saw him bent over a small homemade bakery set up right on the kitchen counter. Flour seemed to be everywhere: on his cheeks, the tip of his nose, even in his hair.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he whispered, kissing your forehead tenderly. "I decided to make you breakfast in bed. Well, almost in bed."

You smiled. "And what, you baked all this yourself?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "Almost. YouTube helped a little. Hopefully it'll be edible."

After trying the strawberry jam toast, you couldn't help but sigh in admiration. "This is incredibly delicious! Better than any bakery."

He raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Only because I made it with love."

After breakfast, he took your hand and pulled you to the balcony. It offered a breathtaking view of the city, immersed in the morning haze. He hugged you, holding you tightly, and you felt all your worries and cares melt away in his embrace.