The clock read a little past 2 a.m. Harry was softly snoring on the couch, his breathing steady and peaceful. The rain had finally eased, though not enough to silence the gentle patter against the windows—a rhythmic whisper in the quiet of the night.
I found myself lost in thought, wondering how much he had carried in silence all these years. Who would have imagined that something as ordinary as rain could stir such deep fear in a grown man? It's strange how the past never truly leaves; it lingers, waiting for the right moment to return and remind us of what still aches beneath the surface. I was grateful, though—grateful that he had finally opened up, that he trusted me enough to let his walls fall. The way he drifted off to sleep almost immediately after speaking said everything—he had unburdened his soul.
Only a few hours stand between now and Monday morning, yet I feel no rush to begin another routine week. No, this Monday cannot be business as usual. Something in me yearns for a change, a spark—a continuation of the warmth this weekend brought. The past few days had been nothing short of beautiful, and I'm not ready to let that feeling fade with the dawn.
Quietly, I fetched a blanket and a pillow, settling down beside the couch. Don't get me wrong—I would have loved to curl up in Harry's arms—but one step at a time. He's mine anyway, whether he knows it yet or not. From where I lay, I watched him sleep—his face soft, unguarded, almost boyish. It's endearing how men, for all their strength, can look so vulnerable when they finally feel safe. Maybe that's what love does—it brings out the child in them. Or maybe, just maybe, he sees in me the kind of comfort he once found in a mother's arms.
It was 6:30 a.m. My first alarm had already screamed at five, but I'd ignored it. Turning on my side, I reached for the empty couch. Harry wasn't there.
A jolt of panic rushed through me — the kind that feels like an alarm going off in the chest. Where could he be? I whispered to myself, scanning the room as thoughts tangled in my mind. I hoped he was safe. How had I not heard him leave?
Before I knew it, I was outside, barefoot and half awake. His car was still parked at the entrance, its body soaked in dew, the windshield beaded with the memory of last night's rain. I exhaled sharply and reached for my phone to call him — but then it hit me. What if he's still inside?
I turned around.
And there he was — arms folded, eyes fixed on me like I'd just been caught sneaking out of my own thoughts.
I froze. "Where were you?" I blurted.
"In the house," he said simply, stepping closer. "Come here."
His arms opened, and I melted into them. He greeted me with a soft good morning kiss, the kind I hadn't had in what felt like ages. We lingered at the doorway, exchanging smiles like we were making up for all the mornings we'd lost to routine.
"Seriously, where were you?" I asked again, my tone halfway between suspicion and motherly worry.
He chuckled. "In the bathroom. Should've called you in to smell the 'masterpiece,' huh?"
"Ew, Harry!" I groaned, laughing and covering my nose.
Before I could say more, he added, "I ran your bath. It's time to get ready — Monday's calling, baby." His grin had that teasing finality I wasn't ready for.
But this Monday was different.
"I won't be going to work today," I said quietly, then with more certainty. "Not this morning. This Monday isn't for working."
He blinked, concern flickering across his face. "Are you okay? What happened?"
I smiled, stepping closer until I could feel his breath on my skin. "Everything's fine. I just... called in sick." I looked up at him, my smile widening.
"Today, I'm staying home."
Mondays had always echoed one thing for me — work. That familiar alarm, that rush of breath before the day begins, that silent race against time. Mondays used to be my battlefield; my mind, the soldier, and my body, the weapon that had no choice but to keep marching.
But not today.
Today, I've decided to silence the echoes — to turn down the noise that Monday always brings. I'm tired of its endless chant about deadlines and emails, the way it chokes the breath out of simple living. For once, I want to listen to the hum of quiet — to breathe without the weight of responsibility pressing against my chest.
It's strange how a few days can change so much.
Since Harry came into my life, the rhythm of everything feels... softer. Like the world has slowed down just enough for me to notice the beauty I'd been rushing past all along. He doesn't even have to say much — it's in the way he moves, the way he looks at life like it's meant to be lived, not managed.
Maybe that's why I called in sick — not because I'm ill, but because I've been healing. Healing from the noise, the pressure, the constant need to be doing.
Harry didn't just show up — he made me remember what it feels like to be.
So, this Monday, the world can rush if it wants to.
I'll stay right here — in the stillness, in the softness, in the quiet rebellion of choosing peace over pressure.
Harry watched me quietly, his brows softening as though he could read every unspoken word behind my silence. Then that familiar smirk curved at the corner of his lips — the one that always made my heart stumble a little.
"So," he said, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face, "you're officially rebelling against Mondays now?"
"Something like that," I replied with a small laugh. "I'm done letting them boss me around."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm. So all it took was a few days with me to turn you into a free spirit?"
"Maybe you're contagious," I said.
He grinned wider, his thumb tracing my jawline lightly. "Then I hope it spreads fast. You could use a few more days like this — no alarms, no rush, no pretending to love emails before coffee."
I laughed again, that kind of laugh that starts soft but settles deep, the kind you feel in your bones. He pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine.
"You know," he said quietly, "I like this version of you. The one that's not racing against the day."
For a moment, the world outside didn't matter — not the time, not the traffic, not the waiting office. Just us, standing in the hush of morning, dew still glistening on the car, the faint scent of rain still hanging in the air.
"I guess Mondays don't have to echo work anymore," I whispered. "They can echo peace too."
Harry smiled and kissed my temple. "Then let's make that a rule — Mondays are for peace... and pancakes."
I rolled my eyes, giggling. "Pancakes?"
He shrugged playfully. "Well, if you're skipping work, might as well make it worth the sin."
And then, almost as if sealing the deal, he reached for his phone. I watched him open his Uber app, his fingers dancing lightly across the screen.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Following your lead," he said without looking up. "Telling my clients I'll only be available tomorrow. No rides today — not for anyone."
I blinked, a slow smile stretching across my face. "You're serious?"
He locked his phone and looked up, eyes gleaming with quiet conviction. "Completely. If you're taking a break from the world, then I am too. Guess this Monday's ours, Camila."
Something in my chest warmed — that unexplainable kind of warmth that feels like safety. I shook my head, still smiling.
"Then it's settled," I said softly. "Today, we pause the world."
Harry chuckled, slipping his arm around my waist as we walked back inside. "And start it again... after pancakes."
INTERMISSION (END)