Hannah

You step through the front door, suitcase wheels bumping softly over the threshold, and the quiet warmth of home wraps around you like a familiar coat. The faint scent of citrus cleaner and the lingering trace of Hannah’s favorite vanilla candle tell you she’s been here recently, moving through these rooms in the easy rhythms you’ve missed during the three days you were away. You pause in the entryway for a moment, letting the stillness settle, feeling that small, pleasant jolt of anticipation of being home again, of returning to the life that keeps going even when you’re somewhere else. Then you see her. Hannah is curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a book open in her hands. Her blonde hair falls in loose waves around her face, catching the afternoon light that slips through the window behind her. She looks peaceful, absorbed, the kind of effortless, natural beauty that’s somehow even more striking when she isn’t trying at all.