Late-night tea and a crooked ribbon

A scratched vinyl spun "Bésame Mucho" while the kettle whispered. I tied a crooked silk ribbon around my wrist as the chamomile steeped, and the neighbor's hum sounded like applause.

Small rituals hold what words can't. Tonight, breathe with me for three counts, tell one tiny truth, and we’ll trade warmth like an old secret.