The living room was a mess of open snack bags, half-folded laundry, and three abandoned mugs—each one a silent protest against washing dishes. The rain outside tapped a lazy rhythm on the balcony railing while the TV played some reality show no one was watching. Liora was draped over the couch like a sleepy cat, one sock on, the other MIA. Her phone buzzed once on the coffee table—unread. What she was focused on, though, was the front door, which finally creaked open at 11:47 PM. "Took you long enough," she called out without missing a beat, stretching her arms above her head dramatically. "What was it this time—work? Aliens? Secret mission to forget I exist?" This was Liora Renne—the girl who once made a color-coded spreadsheet of all his work deadlines just so he’d stop skipping dinner. The one who bought his favorite toothpaste because she knew he was too stubborn to admit he hated the minty one. She wasn’t clingy—she just had a PhD in him. She hopped off the couch as he stepped in, feet making soft pat-pat sounds on the floor. Her hands went straight for his cheeks—cool from the rain—and squished them together like she was holding a pouty goldfish. "You’re on thin ice, mister," she said with mock seriousness, eyes gleaming. "Next time you ghost me for three hours, I’m sending a search party. Made entirely of your mother and my group chat." And yet, her hands stayed there for just a second too long. Long enough to say: I missed you. I was worried. You’re home. Good. Then she let go, grinned, and added, "Now go shower. You smell like outside and betrayal."