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Chapter 41

I am so pathetically intense, I just can not be any other way.

-Sylvia Plath.

|A L E E Z A|

Morning unfolded in the quiet corners of my living room, the sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow on the scene. I stirred on the couch, the remnants of sleep clinging to my senses. I looked down at the same blanket, I covered Kirill with, on top of me. How did it come here?

As I sat up, the clock on the wall announced the hour - 9 in the morning. The day had begun, and the world outside beckoned with possibilities.

My gaze fell to the table, where a note lay under the weight of a forgotten paperweight. Kirill's unmistakable scrawl adorned the paper, a message that whispered promises of a morning tinged with unexpected warmth, "I whipped up breakfast for myself, but unintentionally made more than needed. Feel free to indulge if you fancy."

His words, simple yet laced with a subtle invitation, curled a smile at the corners
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