The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the lounge with a warm glow that danced across the polished mahogany shelves and deep leather chairs. Gigi sat at her desk, her pen gliding effortlessly across thick cream-colored paper. The letter was nearly finished, each word chosen with precision, her handwriting flowing in elegant, deliberate strokes.

She pressed the nib to the final flourish of her name, pausing to admire her work. A handwritten letter carried a weight that nothing else could—a personal touch in a world that had forgotten how to linger. She folded the paper neatly, sealing it with a drop of red wax before setting it aside.

The door opened behind her with a quiet creak. She didn’t need to look to know it was you. She could feel your presence, familiar and grounding, the faint scent of your cologne reaching her before your footsteps.

"Long day?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile.