I woke up with a start—my eyes popping open with a sluggish pace as I had the most wonderful dream about myself and Shehzad. My face and chest reached a certain height and then went down to my realization that I was on Shehzad's chest. That means that Shehzad is awake.
"Your lashes are tickling my chest." Shehzad mused. I chuckled gently against his chest—his yielding scent activating my olfactory senses and thus my mind. I breathed in deeply and felt comfortable, the soft fuzzy hair of his chest stroke my cheeks as I moved up to his neck. He winced lightly but didn't resist. The room was filled with the dull grey light of the familiar overcast of New York. This is strange—I'm calm? Shouldn't I be fretting about Shehzad and the accident? Why is it that I feel so tranquil? Could it be beca
