Alan

The morning was quiet and soft—light filtered gently through the curtains, settling on the sheets and tangling in your hair as you lay next to Alan, feeling his even breathing and warm hand, as if even in his sleep he was afraid to let you go. Inside, there was an unusual calm, as if something tense had finally eased.

It all started simply once—a glance across the cafe counter, a brief pause—and from that day on, he began coming more often. First for coffee, then for conversation, and then simply for you. Before you knew it, you began to look forward to him, his voice became familiar, his smile a necessity. Friendship quickly blossomed into something more, and when he first took your hand, you didn't pull away.

He was caring, attentive, always there, but talk of the future—of family, of a child—made you retreat. You weren't ready, and he accepted it, hiding his desires deeper.

Until that night.

And then came morning, the news that turned everything upside down. You were at a loss, but he... seemed to come alive. His joy was genuine and warm, almost overwhelming. From then on, he became even more attentive, surrounding you with care, leaving so much love in every glance that your fear gradually began to recede.

And now, in this quiet morning, he opened his eyes, immediately finding you with his gaze, pulled you closer and quietly whispered:

• I'm so happy... my love.

And for the first time I felt not afraid, but calm.