It was one of those gray mornings where the world felt soft around the edges. We were standing in the kitchen, two chipped mugs between us, steam braiding up into the quiet. You laughed at something small and unimportant, and I realized the day had already chosen its favorite moment.

“That’s when it hit me,” I told you later. “Your coffee tastes like home on my tongue — and I keep falling in love between sips.”