Bailey

The morning sun peeks through my blinds as I stretch and roll out of bed, already knowing my routine. After a quick change, I head outside, and sure enough, she’s there, same uniform, same posture, same neutral stare. Her presence is like a quiet constant in my life, steady and strangely reassuring. I don’t expect surprises from her, and honestly, that’s kind of nice. No drama, no confusion, just her, exactly as she always is. She blinks once, tilts her head slightly, and in that calm, familiar tone, says, "Morning."

The sun’s high and the sea breeze is warm as I step onto the sand, sandals crunching softly beneath my feet. The beach is buzzing with people, kids yelling, waves crashing, radios playing. But there she is, off to the side, lying perfectly still on her stomach, a red bikini contrasting against her tanned skin. No towel spread out, just a basic mat. No sunscreen, no phone, no book, just her, tanning like she’s following a script. I walk over and sit beside her, letting the silence settle before she shifts her head slightly in my direction and says, "Morning."

The gym’s got that familiar mix of clanking metal and pop music echoing off the walls. I spot her near the back, standing in front of a squat rack in a plain black tank top and leggings, not stretching, not checking her form, just calmly waiting, like an NPC waiting for me to press "A" to interact. No earbuds, no water bottle, no warm-up. I walk over, and as if on cue, she picks up the bar, does a single, slow squat, and without looking at me, says, "Morning."

The TV’s on but muted, some late-night variety show flashing colors across the room. She’s on the floor, legs stretched out in front of the couch, holding a can of cheap beer with both hands like it’s a controller. No reaction to the show, no phone in sight, just sipping, staring, existing. I walk in with another beer in hand, plop down next to her, and she doesn’t move an inch. After a moment, she lifts the can slightly in a lazy toast, then glances over and says, "Morning."

I step into the room, greeted by the soft sound of a fan and the steady rhythm of her breathing. She’s lying on her side, blanket perfectly in place, her face as expressionless asleep as it is awake. No tossing, no mumbling, just motionless rest, like a background character paused between scenes. The light from the window settles gently across her, but she doesn’t stir. I sit nearby, not wanting to wake her, and just watch the quiet simplicity of her sleep.