I used to think happiness was something loud.
Something that announced its arrival with grand gestures, expensive gifts, unforgettable holidays, and moments so beautiful that you wished time would stop just to let you enjoy them a little longer.
But I was wrong.
Sometimes, happiness was waking up beside the person you loved and not having a single reason to worry about what the day might bring.
Sometimes, it was the smell of freshly prepared breakfast travelling through the apartment, the sound of someone humming in the kitchen, or the feeling of warm fingers brushing against yours beneath a dining table.
And sometimes, happiness was simply having nothing to explain, nothing to question, and nobody to lose sleep over.
That Monday morning, I woke up to a different Nina.
Or perhaps I should say I woke up to a version of Nina I had always known existed but had not experienced in a while.
Sunlight slipped through the narrow spaces between the curtains, spreading across our bedroom in soft golden lines. The room was unusually warm, and the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air. Somewhere outside, a car horn sounded briefly before disappearing into the usual morning noise of the city.
I turned to my side.
She was still asleep.
Her face was slightly buried in the pillow, one arm stretched across the space where I had been lying. A few strands of her hair had fallen across her forehead, and her lips were parted just enough to make her breathing visible.
I watched her for a moment.
There was something beautiful about seeing Nina when she wasn't trying to be anything.
No perfectly arranged hair, no carefully selected outfit, no professional expression, no guarded responses. Just Nina.
My Nina.
I gently moved a strand of hair away from her face.
"Good morning, beautiful."
She stirred, scrunched her nose and slowly opened one eye.
"Are you talking to me?"
I chuckled.
"Unless there's another beautiful woman hiding in this bed, yes."
She smiled without fully opening her eyes.
"You're becoming unnecessarily sweet."
"Is that a complaint?"
"Not yet."
She stretched, turned towards me and rested her head against my chest.
"Good morning, Ethan."
I kissed the top of her head.
"Good morning, trouble."
She lifted her face.
"Trouble?"
"Beautiful trouble."
"Better."
And just like that, we started our morning.
No difficult conversations. No uncomfortable silences. No questions about things we had agreed to leave behind.
Just two people enjoying the simple privilege of waking up together.
⸻
Breakfast was Nina's idea.
Actually, most of the morning seemed to be Nina's idea.
She insisted that I stay away from the kitchen while she prepared something, although I could barely understand why she needed to protect a frying pan from me.
"You know I can cook, right?" I asked, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
She didn't turn.
"Yes, I know."
"Then why am I being treated like a visitor in my own kitchen?"
"Because the last time you attempted to make eggs, you nearly destroyed my favourite pan."
"That was an unfortunate accident."
"An unfortunate accident that produced black eggs."
I laughed.
"They were slightly overcooked."
"Ethan, they were charcoal."
I placed a hand over my chest.
"That's a very disrespectful way to describe a man's effort."
She finally turned, holding a spatula in one hand.
"And that's a very dramatic way to defend bad cooking."
I watched her return to the stove, shaking her head as she laughed.
The kitchen smelled of butter, toasted bread and freshly brewed coffee. A small plate of sliced fruits sat beside the chopping board, while two glasses of orange juice waited on the counter. Nina had prepared scrambled eggs, sausages and toast, with enough food to suggest she had completely forgotten that breakfast was supposed to be a meal for two.
I helped arrange the table while she finished.
When she eventually joined me, she looked pleased with herself.
"Well?"
I took a bite.
Then another.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Ethan."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Don't just eat. Say something."
I swallowed deliberately.
"Madam, I believe you've discovered your calling."
She smiled.
"Really?"
"Yes. I think you should consider opening a restaurant."
"You're making fun of me."
"I'm being serious. Although I might need to become your official food tester."
She laughed and reached for her coffee.
We spent nearly an hour at that table.
We talked about work, a movie she wanted us to watch, a colleague who had apparently been getting on her nerves, and a holiday destination she had seen online.
She even spent a few minutes explaining why she thought I had terrible taste in movies.
I disagreed, naturally.
She disagreed with my disagreement.
And somehow, we ended up laughing over something neither of us could properly remember by the time breakfast was over.
It was ordinary.
Beautifully ordinary.
And I found myself wishing that every morning could begin that way.
⸻
The days that followed were kinder to us.
That was the only way I could describe them.
Nina seemed lighter.
She laughed more freely, complained about little things without turning them into serious conversations, and occasionally caught me staring at her from across a room.
Whenever I asked what she was looking at, she would simply smile and say nothing.
I began to notice the little things again.
The way she tied her hair whenever she was concentrating. How she tilted her head slightly whenever she disagreed with something. The way she occasionally stole food from my plate despite having ordered the exact same thing.
I noticed how she reached for my hand whenever we walked together, how she rested her feet on my lap while reading, and how she sometimes called my name from another room simply because she wanted me to come and see something that could easily have waited.
And I loved it.
I loved all of it.
We went out more often.
One Friday evening, we visited a restaurant she had been talking about for weeks. She spent more time deciding what to order than she did eating, and when I teased her about it, she threatened to finish my meal as punishment.
Another weekend, we went to the cinema.
She insisted on choosing the movie, and I made the mistake of allowing her to believe she had excellent taste.
Halfway through, she rested her head against my shoulder and whispered a prediction about how the story would end.
She was right.
Unfortunately.
I spent the next ten minutes listening to her remind me that she had told me so.
We bought popcorn, shared drinks and argued about the ending while walking back to the car.
It was the sort of evening I would have once considered too simple to remember.
But I remembered everything.
The way she laughed beneath the cinema lights.
The way she held my hand while crossing the road.
The way she fell asleep against my shoulder during the drive home and woke up just before we arrived, pretending she hadn't slept at all.
Then there were our evenings at home.
Sometimes, we cooked together.
Sometimes, we ordered food and watched movies until neither of us could keep our eyes open.
Sometimes, we did absolutely nothing.
And somehow, doing nothing with Nina became one of my favourite things.
⸻
There was one evening I remember particularly well.
It was a Thursday.
The weather had been unusually warm throughout the day, and by the time we returned from work, the apartment felt almost stuffy.
I had just finished taking off my wristwatch when Nina appeared at the bedroom doorway.
"Ethan?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you coming?"
I looked up.
"Where?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"To shower."
I glanced towards the bathroom and then back at her.
"Together?"
She gave me a look.
"Unless you have somewhere else to be."
I laughed softly.
"You're asking me to come shower with you?"
"Must I write you an invitation?"
I stood there for a second, trying to decide whether she was teasing me.
She folded her arms.
"Well?"
"Give me a minute."
She laughed and disappeared into the bathroom.
I remained where I was for a moment.
It was almost funny.
Nina and I had shared a bed, kissed in the rain, spent entire weekends together and become comfortable enough to exist around each other without pretending.
Yet the thought of joining her in the shower made me hesitate.
It wasn't because I didn't want to.
It was simply something we had never done before.
A small, unfamiliar experience in a relationship where I had begun to think I knew almost everything about her.
When I eventually walked into the bathroom, the mirror was already beginning to fog from the warm water.
Nina stood beneath the shower, her hair tied loosely away from her face.
She looked towards me.
"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."
I stepped closer.
"I was considering the invitation."
"And your decision?"
I smiled.
"I accept."
She laughed.
"Good answer."
I joined her beneath the warm stream of water.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
There was something unexpectedly intimate about the experience. Not because it was something extraordinary, but because it was new. We had shared so many private moments, yet this one carried a different kind of closeness.
Nina reached for the shower gel and handed it to me.
"Here."
"Thank you."
She smiled.
"You're welcome."
We laughed when I accidentally got water in my eyes, and she spent the next minute making fun of me for blinking like someone who had just encountered a ghost.
I retaliated by splashing a little water in her direction.
She gasped.
"Ethan!"
"What?"
"Don't start what you cannot finish."
I laughed.
"Are you threatening me in the shower?"
"Absolutely."
It was silly.
It was comfortable.
And it was ours.
When we eventually stepped out, Nina wrapped herself in a towel and stood in front of the mirror, wiping away the fog with her palm.
I watched her through the reflection.
She caught my eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I'm allowed to admire my girlfriend."
She smiled at the mirror.
"Your girlfriend is going to bed."
I chuckled.
"Then I suppose I should follow."
That night, we fell asleep with the windows slightly open and the soft sound of the television fading somewhere in the background.
I remember thinking that there was no place I would rather be.
And for once, I didn't have to convince myself of it.
⸻
Monday arrived with the usual demands of work.
The alarm sounded earlier than I would have preferred, and I spent a few extra minutes negotiating with my pillow before finally getting out of bed.
Nina was already awake.
She stood before the wardrobe, deciding between two outfits while occasionally checking the time on her phone.
"You're going to be late," she said without looking at me.
I rubbed my eyes.
"Good morning to you too."
She smiled.
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
I walked towards her and kissed her cheek.
"Much better."
We got ready, had a quick breakfast and drove to the office together.
The traffic was manageable, and Nina spent most of the journey talking about a meeting she had scheduled for later in the day.
I listened, occasionally adding a comment whenever she paused.
When we arrived, I dropped her near the entrance to the building before driving towards my usual parking space.
She leaned towards the window.
"Have a lovely day."
I smiled.
"You too, beautiful."
She blew me a kiss.
I caught it.
She laughed before closing the door.
I watched her walk towards the entrance, her handbag resting against her side and her heels making a soft clicking sound against the pavement.
Then I drove off.
At the time, I had no idea that something as ordinary as that Monday would become one of the memories I would hold on to.
⸻
Work had a different feeling too.
Not because the office had changed.
The same reception area welcomed visitors. The same air-conditioning system made the corridors unnecessarily cold. The same employees hurried between offices, carrying files, laptops and cups of coffee.
But I was different.
I was happier.
And apparently, it showed.
I had barely settled behind my desk when my phone vibrated with a message from Nina.
Have you eaten?
I smiled.
Good morning to you too, madam.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Answer the question, Ethan.
Not yet.
I knew it.
I shook my head, laughing to myself.
A few minutes later, I became occupied with the documents on my desk.
I was reviewing a report when I heard a familiar voice.
"Good morning, stranger."
I looked up.
Nina stood in front of my desk, holding a takeaway coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other.
I leaned back in my chair.
"Well, well. What brings the most beautiful woman in this building to my humble office?"
She placed the coffee on my desk.
"Your inability to take care of yourself."
I looked at the cup.
"Coffee?"
"No, Ethan. Engine oil. Of course, it's coffee."
I laughed.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down.
For the next few minutes, we talked about absolutely nothing important.
She asked whether I had received an email from the finance department. I asked whether her morning meeting had gone well. She complained about a colleague who had sent her three unnecessary reminders about something she had already completed.
I told her she should probably start charging people for the privilege of disturbing her.
She laughed.
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet you keep coming back."
"Unfortunately."
I placed a hand over my chest.
"That hurt."
She smiled, stood up and adjusted her handbag.
"Finish your coffee. Don't let it get cold."
"Yes, ma'am."
She leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
"Have a good day, baby."
"You too."
She turned towards the door.
And then something happened.
Something so ordinary that, under different circumstances, I might not even have remembered it.
As Nina walked towards the corridor leading to her office, she noticed Kohl coming from the opposite direction.
He was carrying a file, his shirt neatly tucked into his trousers, and his usual expression of professional concentration.
For a brief moment, I watched them approach each other.
Then Nina smiled.
Not a forced smile.
Not the uncomfortable expression she had worn whenever his name came up in our conversations.
Just a normal, friendly smile.
"Hey, Kohl. How are you doing this morning?"
I froze.
I actually froze.
My fingers stopped moving over the keyboard, and I found myself looking directly at the two of them.
Kohl stopped walking.
His expression changed so quickly that I almost thought I had imagined it.
He looked at Nina, then briefly towards me, before returning his attention to her.
"Uh… good morning, Nina."
There was a small pause.
"I'm… I'm fine. Thank you."
Nina nodded.
"That's good. Have a lovely day."
And she continued walking.
Just like that.
No tension.
No awkwardness.
No sudden change in her expression.
She didn't look back, didn't hesitate, and didn't even seem particularly interested in the fact that Kohl had struggled to put together a proper response.
She simply walked away with the same smile she had worn when she left my desk.
I watched her disappear around the corner.
Then I looked at Kohl.
He was still standing there.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
I raised an eyebrow.
He cleared his throat, adjusted the file in his hand and continued towards his office.
I couldn't help smiling.
What on earth had just happened?
⸻
I think that was when I began to understand how much things had changed.
It wasn't one particular day.
It wasn't one conversation or one romantic gesture.
It was the accumulation of several ordinary moments.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks gradually became months.
Nina became increasingly comfortable around me.
She stopped treating every mention of her past like an approaching storm. She became more open about her feelings, more playful with her affection, and more willing to let me into the little details of her everyday life.
Even at work, she no longer seemed uncomfortable when our paths crossed with Kohl's.
Sometimes she greeted him.
Sometimes she simply nodded.
And sometimes she walked past him without saying anything.
But there was no longer that familiar tension I had grown accustomed to seeing whenever they occupied the same space.
I noticed Kohl too.
He became more reserved whenever Nina was around. Occasionally, I caught him looking in her direction, almost as though he was trying to understand the sudden change in her attitude.
I never asked him about it.
For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel the need to.
I had stopped searching.
I had stopped looking for hidden meanings in every conversation, every expression and every unanswered question.
I deleted Nora's number, and I kept my promise to Nina.
I didn't search for her online.
I didn't ask her parents about her.
I didn't bring her name into our conversations.
I simply allowed myself to live.
And strangely enough, it paid off.
I had never been this genuinely happy in my relationship with Nina.
Not even during the early days when everything was new and exciting.
This was different.
It was the happiness that came from becoming comfortable with someone. The kind that allowed you to sit in silence without feeling the need to fill every second with conversation.
I had found myself enjoying the little things again.
Coming home to her.
Waking up beside her.
Listening to her complain about work.
Watching her fall asleep halfway through a movie she had insisted we watch.
I was happy.
Genuinely happy.
And if someone had asked whether all the difficult moments were worth it, I would have answered without hesitation.
Yes.
Every single one of them.
I believed I had finally found my way back to the woman I fell in love with.
And I was beginning to believe that perhaps love didn't always need every question answered.
Perhaps some things were better left in the past.
At least, that was what I thought.
Until one particular weekend.
⸻
It was a Saturday afternoon.
The weather had been pleasant all morning, with the kind of gentle sunlight that made staying indoors feel like a waste of a perfectly good day.
Nina and I had spent most of the morning lounging around the apartment.
She was in the living room, scrolling through something on her phone, while I was seated at the dining table, attending to a few personal emails.
The television was on, although neither of us was paying much attention to whatever programme was playing.
I had just finished replying to a message when I heard Nina call my name.
"Ethan?"
"Hmm?"
"Your phone is ringing."
I looked towards the table.
"I thought it was beside you."
"It is."
"Then why are you telling me?"
She laughed.
"Because you appear to be too busy to notice that someone is trying to reach you."
I smiled and returned my attention to the screen.
"Who is it?"
She picked up the phone.
"There's no name."
I looked up.
"No name?"
She glanced at the screen again.
"No caller ID. Just a private number."
She stood up and began walking towards me.
"Here, babe. Your phone is ringing."
There was something about the way she said it that made me look at her.
Her eyebrows were slightly raised, and her lips carried a curious little smile. She held the phone between her fingers, turning it slightly as though examining the screen might somehow reveal the identity of the person calling.
She looked almost amused.
"Who calls without a name these days?" she asked.
I laughed.
"Maybe someone who doesn't want to be found."
She tilted her head.
"That's suspicious."
"You're suspicious."
She rolled her eyes and placed the phone in my hand.
"Just answer it."
I looked at her for a moment.
There was a small crease between her eyebrows, and her eyes moved briefly from the phone to my face.
She looked curious.
Almost anxious.
And, for some strange reason, I found it incredibly adorable.
I reached for her hand, pulled her gently towards me and kissed her head.
"Relax, beautiful."
She smiled.
"Answer your phone, Ethan."
I chuckled.
"Yes, ma'am."
I lifted the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then a familiar voice came through.
"Hello, Ethan."
My smile disappeared.
I sat up slightly.
The voice.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it countless times growing up. It was the voice that had called me in from the garden when I was a child, the voice that reminded me to eat whenever I became too occupied with something, the voice that could scold me for an entire afternoon and still end the conversation by asking whether I needed anything.
It was a voice I could recognise in a crowded room.
A voice I hadn't expected to hear at that particular moment.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
I swallowed.
"Mom?"
The word escaped my mouth before I could even think about it.
And immediately, I noticed something.
Nina's smile disappeared.
Her eyebrows drew together, and the expression that followed was unlike anything I had seen on her face in a very long time.
She stared at me.
Then, almost as though she hadn't heard me correctly, she repeated the word.
"Mom?"
I turned towards her.
She was looking directly at me now, her eyes wide with an expression caught somewhere between shock and confusion.
Her lips parted slightly.
For a second, she looked as though she wanted to ask a question but couldn't decide which one to begin with.
I stared back at her.
The phone was still pressed against my ear.
My mother's voice came through again.
"Ethan? Are you there?"
But I barely heard her.
Because Nina was still looking at me.
And the expression on her face was changing.
Her curiosity had disappeared, replaced by something I couldn't immediately understand.
It was almost recognition.
Almost disbelief.
Almost fear.
I looked at her, then back towards the phone.
"Yes, Mom. I'm here."
Nina took a small step backwards.
I noticed it.
I noticed the way her fingers slowly loosened around the edge of her dress, the way her eyes remained fixed on me, and how the cheerful expression she had worn only moments earlier seemed to have vanished completely.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, the simple fact that my mother had called me had suddenly become the most uncomfortable moment of my weekend.
I looked at Nina again.
She whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.
"Your mom?"
I nodded slowly.
"Yes."
She didn't respond.
She simply stood there, staring at me as though the two words had opened a door she had spent years trying to keep closed.
And just like that, the beautiful afternoon no longer felt the same.
I had spent months believing that I had finally understood the woman I loved.
But as I stood there with my mother on the phone and Nina looking at me as though she had just discovered something she never expected to find, I realised something.
Perhaps we had both been keeping more secrets than I knew.
And perhaps, without either of us realising it, the past was never really behind us.
Not all over again.