The phenomenon passed as quietly as the night did.
We woke tangled together, her body curled against mine like a koala to a tree. She slept longer than I did, no alarms, no rush, so I let her rest, just watching her breathe.
Eventually, Violet stirred, her voice still wrapped in sleep.
"Well, good morning, Roseee."
She rubbed her eyes and looked up at me, her smile brighter than the morning sun.
"Good morning to you too, Violet."
She pressed a soft kiss to my cheek before slipping out of bed and stretching, unbothered and bare. Her walk to the bathroom was unhurried, graceful, her hips and ass an unintentional performance that I could never stop watching.
From the bathroom, her voice rang out. "Rose, can you hand me my phone?"
I grabbed it from the nightstand and followed her in.
She met my gaze through the mirror as I handed it to her, her chocolate-brown eyes anchoring me in place. I felt a pleasant shiver move through my spine, a quiet electricity.
I kissed the side of her neck, she responded with a soft moan as I joined her at the sink.
As we brushed our teeth side by side, she said, "Ten to seven today. I'll text you when I can."
I could already hear the dread slipping into her voice.
"Alright, darling. I hope today's better than yesterday," I said, rinsing.
She sighed, already resigned. "I can feel it creeping in."
She took a swig of mouthwash, spat it into the sink, and stared at me through the mirror. Not breaking eye contact once. Even as she turned and left the room, her gaze lingered.
Her hips swayed like they always did, like a metronome tuned only to me, a pendulum made for my eyes only. Every movement, every jiggle and bounce, it all hit me like a slow, devastating symphony. The kind that melts your brain in the best way.
Even after she was out of sight, I stayed rooted in place, finishing brushing my teeth, still thinking about her.
Who could blame me? She was all I ever thought about, even while working.
Not that my work was anything noble. Just a small-time author clawing at deadlines, barely making ends meet for myself and the love of my life.
When I stepped out, she was already dressed, keys in hand.
I pulled her into a kiss. "I need you to be safe for me, alright?"
She grinned, playful even in her rush. "And I need you to write another amazing chapter for me, Mr. Author."
She was gone before I could say more.
I let out a slow sigh and wandered to my office.
As soon as I opened my laptop, my mind emptied. Like a calm sea. No motion. No fish. Nothing.
Then, a single idea dropped in, then another. Then more.
Like rain in a rainforest, it poured. A downpour of half-formed visions and metaphors and lines, each one better than the last.
But my thoughts drifted. Not to plot or structure, but to last night.
Not just the desire and lust, but the impossible stillness.
The moment when time stopped, and the world turned silent.
What was that?
What made something that profound… happen?
And then, my fingers moved.
They danced across the keys like I wasn't even thinking, like the story was writing itself through me. Each word hit the page with harmony, with rhythm. No overthinking.
Just flow.
When I finally stopped, I took a sip of water. Cold, crisp, like it brought me back from the dead. I leaned back in my chair, letting the peace wash over me.
She was still at work. And now the chapter was done.
So I spun in my chair. Aimless. Empty again.
That's when I noticed the clock.
This time, it hadn't stopped.
It was speeding up.
The ticking came faster and faster, a frantic staccato that grew until it blurred into a hum.
Outside, the clouds whipped across the sky like white wings, doves in fast-forward.
The sun careened toward the horizon, melting into dusk. The moon rose like a silver ghost.
Then-
Tick.
Everything stopped.
The clock read 7:30 PM.
And then, I heard the front door open.
I ran.
I didn't know why, but my body knew.
And there she was.
Standing in the doorway.
Tears streaking her cheeks. Makeup smudged.
She collapsed into me, arms around my neck, sobbing against my shoulder.
I held her. I didn't ask. I just waited.
Finally, she spoke.
Her voice cracked open like a fault line.
"I think there's something wrong with me."
"Why would you think that?" I whispered. "There's nothing wrong with you at all, my love."
But she just kept crying. The sound of her soft weeping and sniffles made my chest ache like my heart was melting right through it.
"Talk to me," I said gently. "What happened?"
She sniffled again, quieter this time, her voice barely above a breath.
"I-I don't know. I just… I wished the workday was over, and then… and then…"
She wished it?
My mind flashed back to last night, the final thing I'd said before the world froze:
"I wish this moment could last forever."
Could it be?
Could our thoughts, our wishes, have caused these breaks in time?
No Rose, your books are getting to your head.
I pushed the thought aside for now, wiping her tears with my thumb and kissing her cheek.
I led her to the bedroom, gently removing her work clothes, replacing them with something soft and comfortable. Then I grabbed her makeup wipes and knelt beside her, carefully wiping her face. Even through tear-streaks and smudged mascara, she was breathtaking.
Her hand suddenly caught mine. Her eyes shimmered like they could spill over again at any moment.
"How can you love me so much?" she asked.
The question stopped me. How couldn't I?
She was everything.
"Violet… how couldn't I?" I said softly.
Her expression grew more strained, more vulnerable.
"I haven't given you…"
I cut her off, holding her hand tighter.
"Hey. You know that's not everything to me, right? I love you for who you are. I made you my fiancée not because I loved your body, but because I love you, Violet."
She fell into my chest, her sobs breaking loose again. I held her tightly, hoping my words could hold her together. Hoping that someday she'd understand, really understand, even a fraction of how much I loved her.
I laid her gently on the bed and turned on the TV, letting a soft, slow melody drift into the room, saxophones singing like harpists coaxing tears from strings.
I slipped into the kitchen and made her a cup of hot chocolate. I rushed it back with a straw, cutting the lights and lighting her favorite vanilla candle. The glow flickered across her face as I turned the music down a little lower.
I sat by the bed, my head resting against the mattress.
Her fingers slid into my hair, gently ruffling it, stroking slow and absent-minded like she was calming herself with the motion.
I didn't want to break the silence.
But she did.
"I'm sorry, Rose."
I held her hand where it rested on my head. "Sorry for what?"
She chuckled softly. "For crying so much. For making you worry."
God, her heart. That soft, precious heart of hers, I loved it more than I could ever say. And in these quiet, raw moments, I remembered exactly why.
"What kind of man would I be if I didn't listen to my heart?" I said.
Her fingers gripped my hair a little tighter. I could feel her holding something back again, maybe more tears, maybe more love.
She placed her mug on the nightstand and exhaled slowly.
"I just can't help but adore you so damn much."
Wow.
That was all I could think. Just, wow.
She had a way of making my heart leap with just a few words.
I looked up at her, smiling.
"I could say the same to you, cowgirl. Though, I think I've said it enough times already."
My eyes wandered to our bonsai tree, Yggdrasil. Come to think of it, we hadn't watered it yet. I picked up a half-full bottle from the nightstand and knelt by the window, careful not to stir Violet, already wrapped in sleep's warm hands.
As the water met the soil, the violet leaves began to shimmer, subtle at first, then brighter, like moonlight caught in stained glass. Each drop deepened the glow, casting the room in an ethereal haze, soft and strange, and somehow unmistakably her.
I looked back at her, serene in slumber, her face turned to the bonsai's quiet light. Even in rest, she was healing to the eye. A peace I could drink forever.
But beneath that calm, something stirred in me. A tension deep and quiet, not in my chest, not in my stomach, lower still, insistent and alive. I slipped away into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with the silence of guilt and reverence.
No touch, no spark, just the thought of her, and I was already undone. She lived in my head like firelight, warming every dark corner. My pants dropped to my ankles, my breathing faltered, chest rising in waves, pulled by gravity I couldn't fight with each stroke. It was as if a volcano inside me gave way, not violently, but with the pressure of something long withheld. Quiet. Intense. Final.
Hand, abs, thigh, covered.
I leaned against the sink afterward, steadying myself, breath caught somewhere between pleasure and shame. Lust had taken the wheel, but it was love that had cut the path.
I cleaned up and returned to the bedroom, where she had turned in her sleep, now facing the bonsai, a soft smile on her lips as if dreaming of something good. I slipped in beside her. Her smile was contagious. I caught it without meaning to, resting into the bed like a man who had just returned from somewhere far away.
And in that glow, both from the tree and from her, I finally let the world go.