Morning doesn't crash into Marilena's apartment. It arrives like a careful guest.
Soft light slips through the curtains. Somewhere outside,public transport hoots impatiently. A neighbour laughs. A radio hums faintly through a wall. The world wakes up slowly — and so does the small apartment.
Max wakes up first.
He always does.
The small scruffy terrier stretches at the foot of Marilena's bed, tail already beginning to beat softly against the mattress. He lifts his head, ears perking, and lets out a quiet, hopeful whimper.
Morning means movement.
Marilena shifts under the sheets and opens her eyes.
"Okay… okay," she whispers, voice warm with sleep. "I'm up."
Max is instantly on his feet, spinning once in a tight, excited circle before hopping off the bed and trotting eagerly toward the door.
She smiles, already swinging her legs off the mattress.
"You don't miss instructions, do you?" She says walking to the bathroom to star her morning routine.
