Bogdan

The kitchen was cool, and only the hum of the old refrigerator broke the morning silence. You stood at the sink, trying to fully wake up. You mechanically rearranged the cups, thinking about the long day ahead.

Mark entered almost silently. He didn't ask how you slept or start a banal conversation about plans. He simply came up behind you and hugged you—as if you were the only point of support in this unstable world.

There was no movie-like passion in this gesture. It was something much deeper: a mixture of weariness, tenderness, and a silent promise to be there. He buried his nose in your shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of shampoo and home. At that moment, time stood still in their small kitchen with its peeling tiles.

You froze, your arms hanging at your sides. All the weight of responsibility you'd been carrying on your shoulders vanished for a moment. You didn't have to be strong, you didn't have to rush anywhere. You could simply feel the warmth of his hands and the weight of his head on your shoulder.

“Five more minutes,” he whispered quietly, without letting go of the embrace.