Richard

I blink up at the ceiling and wait for the blurry chandelier to come into focus. It takes a minute for my vision to clear, although my brain remains a fuzzy mess.

Why am I on the floor?

“Oh, thank God you’re awake. Are you okay?” Maya leans forward. Her dark waves brush against my face, tickling my skin. She smells like snickerdoodle cookies, reminding me of late nights staying up past curfew together, eating raw cookie dough while hanging out on the dock. My attempt to hold back from taking another deep breath fails, and I’m hit with a second inhale of her cinnamon scent.

I can’t remember the last time I dreamed of Maya. Months?Years?This one is more vivid than my others, nailing the smallest details like the tiny birthmark on her neck in the shape of a heartand the scar above her cupid’s bow.

I reach…