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The rain tapped gently on the window like it, too, was asking to be part of her Sunday.
Wrapped in a blanket that smelled like lavender and memories, she sank into the couch, her favorite book cradled against her chest like a secret. The world could wait. Emails could rot. Somewhere between page 27 and a cold cup of coffee, the line between real life and the story began to blur.
She wasn’t just reading anymore. She was the girl running through moonlit forests, the warrior with ink-stained hands and a spine made of steel and stardust.
Outside, the day passed slowly.
Inside, she was saving kingdoms.
And for one perfect, lazy Sunday, that was enough.
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