The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and pink. I stirred awake, the quiet stillness of the morning wrapping around me like a warm blanket. My body felt heavy, not from exhaustion, but from the lingering haze of emotions from the night before.
   And then I felt it a soft warmth against my back, an arm draped loosely over my waist. My heart skipped as the memories came rushing back: the confession, the kiss, the way we’d stayed up for hours, talking and touching, holding onto each other as if the night could slip away too quickly.
   I turned slowly, careful not to wake her. She was still asleep, her face peaceful and soft, her curls wild and scattered across the pillow. Her lips were slightly parted, and I couldn’t help but smile, my chest tightening at how utterly beautiful she looked.
   Her arm tightened around me as I moved, and her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first. Then she saw me, and a slow, sleepy smile spread across her face.
   “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.
   “Morning,” I replied, my voice softer than I expected.
   For a moment, neither of us said anything, just staring at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. I thought maybe she’d regret it, regret what she’d said, regret what we’d done. But then her fingers brushed my cheek, and she leaned in, her lips pressing softly to mine.
   It wasn’t like the kisses from last night those had been hungry, desperate, laced with years of unspoken longing. This one was slow, tender, and warm, like she was savoring the moment.
   When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, her eyes searching mine. “So... last night wasn’t a dream?”
   I chuckled softly. “No. It wasn’t.”
   “Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t want it to be.”
   Her words sent a shiver through me, and I couldn’t stop myself from closing the gap between us again, kissing her deeply this time. Her hand slid into my hair, pulling me closer as our lips moved together, a perfect rhythm that felt so natural it was almost terrifying.
   Her body shifted against mine, and I felt the warmth of her skin as her leg draped over mine. My hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and she sighed into my mouth, her breath hitching slightly when my thumb brushed against the bare skin just under the hem of her shirt.
   “You’re making it hard to get out of bed,” she murmured against my lips, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
   “Good,” I replied, my hand sliding up her back, tracing lazy patterns on her skin. “I don’t really want to leave either.”
   Her laughter was soft, warm, and it made my heart ache in the best way. “I meant what I said last night,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “I love you. I don’t care if it was the wine talking or if I looked ridiculous confessing it, but I do. I love you.”
   My hand stilled, and I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. There was no hesitation there, no doubt just quiet certainty.
   “I love you too,” I said, my voice steady despite the way my heart raced. “I think I always have.”
   Her eyes softened, and she leaned in again, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that felt like a promise. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other now.”
   “Guess so,” I said, grinning.
   We stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other, the world outside forgotten. There was something beautiful about the stillness, the quiet intimacy of a morning shared with someone who had, unknowingly, become the center of my universe.
   And as the light grew brighter, spilling warmth across the room, I realized I didn’t mind being stuck with her...not at all.