Third-Person Narration
The days had settled into a rhythm—one that felt both grounded and electric. Selene and Antonio, now living under one roof, moved like harmony in motion. Mornings began with quiet breakfasts, bare feet on warm floors, the aroma of coffee brewing in the air as soft classical music played in the background.
Selene would often be hunched over her sketchbook at the kitchen island, a steaming mug nearby, her pencil dancing in swift movements—designs blooming from her thoughts. Some days, Ayra would drop by briefly, sharing feedback, fabric samples, or simply updates from the boutique. Then, Selene would change into her hospital scrubs, hair neatly tied, ready to take on her patients and shifts.
Antonio, in contrast, dressed sharp and seamless. His days were brimming with meetings, decisions, international calls—the weight of running A.S. Entrepreneurs, a name now synonymous with innovation and leadership. His office knew him as the formidable CEO, but at home, he was just Antonio—the man who held Selene's hand during dinner and brought her fresh strawberries when she sketched too long.
Their time often separated them from noon to evening. Selene would leave the hospital, exhaustion tugging at her bones, only to find Antonio waiting for her outside in his sleek black car. The simple act of seeing him leaning against the door, sleeves rolled, eyes lighting up when she emerged—it washed away her weariness.
They would sometimes grab a late dinner, sometimes talk through the drive home, and other times, sit in quiet—his hand on the gearshift, her fingers grazing his.
Nights were their sanctuary.
After quick showers and dinner—sometimes made by Selene, sometimes ordered in—they'd retreat into their design studio. Antonio often watched her work, occasionally offering feedback or simply admiring her in silence. There were moments where he'd loosen his tie and sit across from her, laptop in front, their creative worlds overlapping under one golden ceiling light.
Then came sleep, tangled sheets, whispered dreams, soft kisses.
By morning, they'd share brunch or a cup of tea together before parting ways again. A brief kiss, a whispered reminder of the next evening, and the front door clicking shut behind them.
Their world wasn't always perfect—but it was theirs. Built from the chaos of careers, the beauty of dreams, and the silent promise that no matter how busy the world became, they would always find their way back to each other by nightfall.