Page 174 of Dream On, Liar

The ceiling above me was pale with early light, softened by the curtains that Maeve had insisted on adjusting the day before because “you can’t live in a place that feels like a hospital ward, Rihaan.”

I remember thinking she was dramatic. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Rain had stopped sometime during the night.

I could feel it in the air more than I could see it—like the world outside had exhaled and finally decided to rest.

The cabin was quiet.

But it wasn’t the kind of quiet I used to imagine. Hollow.

This was different.

Lived-in quiet.

Soft edges. Warm corners. A place that had started to remember people.

It had been two days since we’d arrived at the cabin. Our late night of confessions and kisses had become a sacred moment of some kind. We hadn’t spoken about it, but we’d done more than enough to acknowledge that the rules had been broken. Again and again.

A faint clatter from the kitchen brought me back to reality. A cupboard closing too firmly. A low mutter I couldn’t quite hear, but I didn’t need to.

Maeve.

I smiled before I even opened my eyes properly.

It was immediate. Unthinking. Like my body had decided before my mind caught up.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit to the fact that in the two days she’d been here and helped me put together this piece of my life back, she had already changed the way the place breathed.

I lay there a moment longer, letting that thought settle in my chest before I pushed myself up, dragging a hand through my hair, and reached for a T-shirt from the chair beside the bed.

The fabric was still slightly warm from the radiator as I pulled it over my head before freshening up quickly.

Entering the kitchen, the smell hit me properly.

Butter. Coffee. Something slightly burnt underneath it all that I chose to ignore out of respect for the effort.

Maeve was in the kitchen.

Standing at the stove in one of my jumpers—too big for her, sleeves swallowed her hands so she had to push them up every few seconds like they were personally offending her.

Her hair was a mess. Like sleep and stubbornness had taken the fight out of her, or maybe she just didn’t care enough to fix it yet.

She was staring at a pan like it had personally betrayed her.

I stopped in the doorway.

Not because I was unsure.

Because I liked looking at her before she noticed me.

There was something unguarded about her in these moments.

Before she remembered the world existed. Before she became sharp or defensive or clever.

Just Maeve.

Just here.