In the crisp morning, vibrant red aster flowers sit in a vase on the windowsill of an apartment. The warm sunlight casts a glow of yellow on bedsheets. At the foot of the bed, two pairs of legs are tangled together. Nose to nose, small and gentle smiles tugging on lips, and the silent sound of beating hearts meld together.

Sana looks beautiful; her smile bright and lovely as always. Momo has spent many mornings waking up beside her—counting her eyelashes, tracing the point of her nose with the lightest of touches, taking in every part of her and committing her to her memory. Any morning waking up beside Sana is a good morning; just like this one. Momo had woken up to little hairs tickling her face and upon blinking her eyes awake, she found that Sana had taken a few of her own blonde strands of hair and decided to make a brush out of them to trace Momo’s face. Sana’s smile is mischievous, her eyes crinkled into crescents when Momo whines and tucks her face into Sana’s neck. When Sana wraps her arms around her tighter and kisses her head, Momo knows that there is no other place she would rather be.

Saturday is date night. All of the other days of week, one or the other would be out working and would then be too wiped to entertain a date out.

(That never stopped them from lying on their living room floor watching movies all cuddled up. And sometimes Sana would cook and Momo would come home after her dance lessons and then they would find their dinners cold because Momo decided that kissing the love of her life was more dire than eating the food on the table. Sana is, of course, not opposed to complying. She reasons that microwaves exist for a reason. While the food hums away, Momo kisses her again and tells Sana she loves her.)

Saturday’s meant nights out, walking with their fingers laced together and their shoulders bumping together. Saturday’s meant kissing Sana underneath streetlights, kissing her at every crosswalk they stop at. Saturday’s meant dinner at fancy restaurants or little hole-in-the-walls. They meant Sana wiping away excess sauce away on Momo’s face because she is too often a messy eater and teasing her by the sauce away on her finger instead of using a napkin. Saturday’s were movie nights at theaters and wandering home to the sound of the muted clamour of the city at night.

Saturday’s led to Sunday’s where Momo can wake up beside Sana without the pressure of school or work pushing them to move. On Sunday’s the world stills and waits for them until Monday comes along.

And like clockwork, they come home to each other. No matter how sleepy, how terrible the day, always, a kiss goodnight is the silver lining of each day.

~

Momo doesn’t quite know when things start to change.

Perhaps it is when Momo noticed the emptiness of their kitchen when she dropped her bag and slid her shoes off. Perhaps it is the absence of music fluttering through their home and the stale smell of air conditioning instead of the gentle wafting smell of dinner. It definitely is when Momo finds a note on their dining table to fill in for the space in her arms that Sana would usually reside in.

“ Out with a friend. Don’t wait up for me, Momoring <3”

For the first time in awhile, there is no goodnight kiss; no Sana whispering “I love you” before her eyes droop to a close.

Momo can’t help but to lie awake and watch how the moon sits lonely in the sky.

When Saturday comes, Momo wakes up alone to cold sheets.

It isn’t until the afternoon when Sana comes home. Her eyes are bright when she tells Momo about the new friend she was out with.

(Something persistent in Momo tells her that there is something to fe