Mila Emila

2; Part 2: Small Habits and Routines They Share Daily

After breakfast, Reiks sat back in his chair, letting his gaze drift across the room. There was a particular kind of quiet here that only seemed to belong to their mornings together. He let his eyes wander over the familiar sights: the stack of Mila’s half-read books piled on the side table, the gentle curve of her favorite armchair by the window, and the light spilling over the little cactus she had coaxed to life over the past year. Each object was infused with a memory, a small piece of the life they’d built together.

He found himself looking at Mila without meaning to, admiring the way she seemed so at ease here, in their space. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup absentmindedly, her gaze focused somewhere beyond the apartment walls. There was a light in her eyes, a quiet reflection, as if she were seeing something only she could. He watched, knowing better than to interrupt—this was one of those rare moments where they could both let their thoughts wander without needing to fill the silence.

To Mila, the apartment was more than just walls and furniture. It was their sanctuary, the place they had come to know each other in deeper ways than either of them had imagined. She glanced at the bookshelves, a silent testament to her nights spent waiting for him to come home from work, the novels that kept her company until his key turned in the lock. She loved those late nights, the way he would slip off his shoes at the door, tiptoeing through the quiet so as not to disturb her, as if he didn’t know she’d always wait up for him.

With a quiet sigh, she closed her eyes, letting herself soak in this simple, comforting moment. She felt Reiks’s gaze on her, and though neither of them spoke, there was an unspoken promise in that glance. This was home. He was home.

Breaking the silence, Reiks cleared his throat and smirked. “So, any plans to actually finish that book you started…two months ago?” His tone was light, teasing, and his eyes sparkled with the hint of a challenge.

Mila rolled her eyes, reaching out to give him a playful nudge on the arm. “It’s not that I haven’t tried! I just…get distracted.” She grinned, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“Oh, I know,” he replied, leaning back, looking far too pleased with himself. “I think the count of abandoned books is up to seven now. Don’t make me start a tally.”

“Hey, some of us read for the experience, not just to get to the end,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t have your own quirks. Should I bring up your early-morning hair situation?”

Reiks feigned a wounded expression, smoothing his hair back with exaggerated dignity. “I’ll have you know, this hair is the product of years of practice. It doesn’t just fall into place on its own.”

She laughed, a soft sound that filled the room with warmth. “Keep telling yourself that, detective.”

In response, he reached out, letting his fingers brush her cheek lightly before resting on her shoulder. “You’re lucky I have a thick skin.”

“Oh, lucky, am I?” Mila teased, her eyes twinkling. “More like you’re lucky I put up with your daily critiques.” But even as she spoke, her hand rested lightly on top of his, grounding them both in this shared moment. Beneath the banter, there was an affection that neither of them needed to say aloud. It was there, woven into each tease, each glance—a language all their own.

After a moment, their banter softened, and Reiks’s gaze drifted to the postcard tucked on the side of the fridge. It was a photo of a small town by the coast, where they had once talked about spending a summer together. The edges were worn from all the times Mila had taken it down, dreaming aloud about the places they’d visit, the days spent exploring, the nights spent under open skies.

Mila noticed his gaze and smiled, brushing her fingers over the image. “One day,” she murmured, a hint of wistfulness in her tone. “We’ll go there. Away from the city, from everything. Just you and me.”

Reiks chuckled, though his eyes softened. “You say that every time you look at that postcard.”

“I mean it every time.” She looked at him, a challenge in her smile. “You think I’ll ever stop hoping?”

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Not in a million years. And when we finally get there, you can read as many half-finished books as you want. I won’t say a word.” He winked, though his words held a promise, a hope for a shared future they both clung to. Mila’s fingers traced small circles on his arm, and she let herself imagine it—their laughter on some unfamiliar beach, the warmth of the sun, the ease of a life outside these walls.

As they lingered over their coffee, Mila’s gaze shifted to Reiks, watching him more closely, noticing how he seemed more pensive than usual. His eyes were darker, the faintest shadow of something he kept hidden from her, even in these quiet moments. It was as if a veil of worry settled over him, just for an instant, before he glanced up and caught her watching.

He offered a small, reassuring smile, as if to say I’m fine. But Mila knew better. She recognized the look in his eyes, the way he seemed to carry a weight even here, in their safe haven.

“Is everything alright?” she asked softly, her fingers tracing patterns on the edge of her mug.

Reiks hesitated, his gaze falling back to his coffee. “Just… work things. Nothing to worry about.” He glanced back up at her, his eyes holding hers a moment longer than usual. It was as if he wanted to say more but chose not to.

Mila felt a pang of unease, sensing something just beyond reach. But she smiled, nodding, choosing to believe in the quiet peace of the morning rather than the shadow lurking behind his words.

Finally, the last sips of coffee finished, Reiks stood, gathering the mugs and taking them to the sink. Mila joined him, leaning against the counter, watching as he rinsed the cups with a practiced ease. Their routine felt like a dance, each movement familiar, each gesture an unspoken testament to the life they’d created together.

As he turned to face her, his hand found hers, their fingers lacing together in a silent affirmation. No words passed between them, but the sense of peace lingered, a shared understanding of what this morning—this simple, ordinary morning—meant to both of them.

They didn’t need grand gestures, dramatic confessions, or endless promises. What they had was here, in these quiet moments before the day took them in separate directions. This was their constant, their anchor. They knew the world beyond these walls was chaotic, unpredictable. But within this apartment, they held onto something solid, something real.

Reiks pulled her close, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Don’t be late tonight,” he murmured, his voice soft.

She smiled, letting her head rest against his shoulder for a moment longer, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “I won’t. I’ll be here. Always.”

The morning light poured in, casting them both in a gentle glow as they stood together, wrapped in the quiet peace they’d built over years, each knowing that whatever lay beyond the door, they had this. They had each other. And for now, that was enough.