River Town lay shrouded in darkness that night, moonless and still, a stark contrast to the vibrant beauty of Kensbury City. Hannah lay peacefully on Oscar’s chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. She’d been sleepless for a week since Oscar left Kensbury City, a hollowness echoing in her heart. She reached for him, instantly awakening him. She regretted her impulsiveness, fearing she’d gone too far, but it was too late. Oscar pulled her close, his lips nearing hers.

Hannah couldn’t understand men; one touch and he was aroused.

“Oscar, stop it! You’ll kill me!” she protested.

He laughed softly, holding her. Her anger flared. What was so funny at this moment? Fortunately, he relented. “Okay, I’ll stop. Sleep tight. Rest well.” She sensed a hidden meaning in his words. He lay beside her, hands behind his head, seemingly restraining himself.

They slept soundly, the intimacy of their shared sleep in this strange place oddly reminiscent of Charles, from her past life. Charles, a government officer, worked in City Hall. She'd visit him there, spending days with him. Recalling those times, she felt foolish. Once, she'd surprised him, only to find his assistant, Sandra, in his place. She’d believed his unconvincing explanation about work, trusting him blindly. A little doubt would have saved her from that deception. She’d even promised not to unexpectedly visit again, after he’d explained his heavy workload and fear that she might distract him. Obediently, she complied.

Suddenly, Hannah clung to Oscar, noticing his obvious struggle to control himself. Why did she keep teasing him, knowing his vulnerability?

“Oscar,” she murmured, her arm around his waist.

“Hmm?” he replied, his voice low.

“Suddenly, I feel so grateful for everything I’ve been through,” she said slowly. He frowned.

“And, I met you,” she whispered.

She even felt a strange gratitude towards Charles, for his cruelty had led her to Oscar. Remembering their distant past life, her heart ached. It saddened her to think they had been strangers then. She wondered who Oscar would marry, whom he would love, if he would love someone as deeply as he loved her, and if they would have children.

Hannah held him tighter, the weight of her past still heavy on her heart. Oscar lowered his hands, pulling her close.

“I’ll love you for a lifetime,” he whispered, his voice a promise.

“Same here,” she replied firmly. A promise made, a lifetime of love to keep.

The next day, Hannah awoke to find Oscar gone. She stared at the empty space where he’d slept, lost in thought, unsure when she’d fallen asleep. As far as she could recall, they'd hugged and slept soundly.

Stretching, she assumed it was late morning. Checking her phone, she gasped. 3 p.m.! She’d never slept so late, even after the latest nights. Last night's exhaustion must have been profound.

Sitting up, she saw a note on the bedside table. Oscar showing off his handwriting? she mused. It read: “I left for work. Remember to order takeout when you wake up. Eat well. No O.T today. I’ll come back early and take you out for local food. Right. Don’t catch a cold. Bundle up, especially when you are getting the takeout. Yours loved, Oscar.”

Hannah laughed. "Bundle up, especially when getting takeout"? He was reminding her to dress appropriately around strangers, she realized. What a schemer!

She put on a comfortable outfit, brushed her teeth and washed her face. Her back ached; the bed must have been hard. Afterward, she ordered takeout.

Lying on the couch, she felt the lingering effects of her deep sleep, still unrefreshed. Work was forgotten; Oscar consumed her thoughts.

Thinking of him, she texted: “I’m just waking up.”

His reply was swift: “Did you order some takeout?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bundle up?”

“Yes.”

“Take a pic and show me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Chop-chop,” he urged.

Speechless, she got up, found a mirror, and took a picture, about to send it. A mischievous grin spread across her face. She wouldn't be manipulated so easily.

She loosened a few buttons, revealing her collarbone and shoulders, hinting at her breasts. She sent the picture.

Oscar would undoubtedly be furious. Quickly, she sent another, properly dressed, with a text: “Sorry. Wrong pic. This is the correct one.”

After a long pause, he sent an angry emoji. Hannah smiled triumphantly. As she put down her phone, another text arrived: “So, who were you really going to send the first pic to?”