How to be loved

64 - Crisis averted!

How to be loved

64 - Crisis averted!

Becky's POV

The sunlight was warm and soft as it filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the bedroom in a golden glow. I stirred, reaching instinctively to the side of the bed where Freen's warmth should have been. My fingers grazed the empty sheets, cool to the touch, and I frowned.

The faint sound of music reached me from downstairs, the unmistakable hum of her favorite playlist—a mix of acoustic covers and upbeat love songs she played on loop. A sleepy smile crept across my face. Even in her absence, she had a way of pulling me to her. 

The past week of living together had been... enlightening, to say the least. 

Freen's quirks had slowly revealed themselves, some endearing, others annoyingly adorable. For instance, she was a self-proclaimed "organization guru," which meant nothing was safe from her rearranging spree.

"It's just more logical this way," she'd explain with a shrug, ignoring my dramatic sighs.

The fridge now looked like an art exhibit, with color-coded shelves and perfectly aligned jars. My desk drawers? Reorganized "for efficiency," as she called it. Even my stash of snacks had been relocated to a "better spot." I'd groan, but she'd just smile, utterly unbothered. 

Her mornings were a mix of serenity and chaos. She'd hum to herself while preparing breakfast, often burning the first batch of whatever she was making because she got distracted by a text or a song.

And when she wasn't in the kitchen, she was talking to the plants. The monstera in the living room was her favorite, and she treated it like a confidant. "You're looking great today," I overheard her say once, gently misting its leaves as if it needed the encouragement. 

The way she sang in the shower, completely unbothered by the fact that she sometimes went a little off-key during the high notes.

Evenings were her sanctuary. She loved playing her guitar on the balcony, her soft strumming mingling with the sounds of the city. When she wasn't playing, she was reading. Sometimes she got so lost in her book collection that I decided to plan a mini library for her—a secret project she'd love.

But for every quirk that made me roll my eyes, there were ten that made me fall for her all over again. The way she left handwritten notes for me—tiny reminders that said things like 'Drink your water, baby' or 'You looked cute this morning." she'd attach a polaroid of me mid-sleep, hair a mess, with captions like "Log queen" scrawled underneath.

Also, it wasn't all her quirks. Freen had learned plenty about me, too—some that amused her, others that she endured with a loving sigh. 

For one, I had a tendency to lose my slippers. No matter how often I swore I left them by the bed, they'd mysteriously vanish. Only for Freen to find them in the most random places—under the couch, by the kitchen counter, once even in the laundry basket.

Freen teased me mercilessly about it, once even taping a sticky note to the sole of one that read 'Keep me close.'

Then there was my clumsiness. I was a walking hazard, constantly bumping into furniture, knocking over glasses, or dropping things.

Freen teased me endlessly about it but, over time, I started noticing how she'd subtly protect me. If I crouched to pick something up, her hand would instinctively cover the sharp edge of the table so I wouldn't hit my head coming back up. She always claimed it was no big deal, but the way she quietly looked out for me made my heart swell.