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One Tuesday, Elara was struggling to reach a beaker on the top shelf of the supply cabinet. She was hopping, her fingers brushing the glass, when a long arm reached over her head. Sam grabbed the beaker effortlessly and set it on the counter.

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Sam didn’t just lean down; he knelt a little, meeting her halfway. When he kissed her, Elara didn't feel small at all. She felt like the center of the universe. He tasted like salted popcorn and nerves. His hands stayed on her waist, holding her steady, while hers found purchase on his shoulders, grounding him. One Tuesday, Elara was struggling to reach a