Visitor

Lia’s POV The morning sun, usually a cheerful companion, felt a little aggressive as it pierced through the gaps in my old curtains. I woke late, a familiar disorientation clinging to me like morning mist. It was an odd sensation, waking up in my childhood room again, a space frozen in time. Nothing had changed. The same faded floral pattern on my curtains, the same oak dresser stubbornly in its usual corner, a stack of well-loved books still leaning precariously on the nightstand. Even the faint scent of old rose potpourri, long forgotten, lingered in the air. It was a comfort, yet it underscored how much I had changed, even if my room hadn't. A soft knock, then the creak of my door. My mom, a vision of gentle concern, peeked in. "Honey, you're awake. Breakfast is ready. Come on downstairs." Her voice, a warm embrace, instantly melted away the last vestiges of sleep. I sat up, pushing the blanket aside. "I missed you, Mom," I said, the words a raw, honest whisper, and I launched mysel