Over and Over

Love

MALÉ,
MALDIVES.

NARRATORS POV

Layla awoke to the scent of something warm and sweet filling the air.

Her lashes fluttered open, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

The room was quiet, save for the distant sound of birds outside and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.

For a moment, she just lay there, her body sinking into the plush bedding, her mind hazy with sleep. And then—

The scent of honey.

And coffee.

And something else.

She turned her head—and froze.

Hakeem stood at the foot of the bed, holding a tray.

A breakfast tray.

Layla blinked.

He was out of his sling. The cast was gone. His arm was free, moving easily as he set the tray down on the small table beside her.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice smooth, teasing. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep the entire honeymoon away."

Layla sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "You made breakfast?"

His lips twitched. "Well, I ordered it. But I did carry it all the way here. That counts for something, right?"

She glanced down at the tray—golden pancakes drizzled with honey, fresh fruit, a steaming cup of coffee, and a small vase with a single white rose.

Her heart clenched.

He had thought about this. About her.

She lifted her gaze back to him. His good hand rested on the bed, fingers brushing against hers—casual, unassuming, but firm.

A reminder.

Of last night.

Her chest tightened.

She had spent so long pretending. So long avoiding what was right in front of her.

But there was no escaping it anymore.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers curling against the sheets. "Hakeem..."

His expression shifted—still playful, but something deeper flickered beneath the surface. "Hmm?"

She swallowed.

She had to say it.

She had to tell him.

Her heart pounded as she reached for his hand, gripping it tightly, ignoring the way her entire body felt like it was on fire.

"I love you."

The words came out so softly, so unsteady, she barely recognized them as her own.

But he did.

Hakeem's breath hitched.

His fingers tightened around hers, his dark eyes locking onto hers, something unreadable flashing through them—something dangerous, something beautiful.

"Say it again," he murmured, voice husky.

Layla's throat felt dry.

She squeezed his hand.

"I love you," she whispered.

And just like that—

Hakeem moved.