The daylight touched her eyelids; the cloth at the window strained the sunlight to milk that then sank through her eyelids. The eyes reacted to the sun’s mild pressure by telling her mind to tell her body to wake up.

Her eyes were eager to take in the room. Details of it had been mouthed to them by the morning light while her body was still too sleep-heavy for the eyes to have peeked out from under their lids.

Her eyes had never seen anything in this room in this light before. They tracked their way over the writing, reading and listening debris on the floor. They navigated the middle-ground of shelves and desk. They traced along the ceiling, back around the door, to the chimney dirt in the old fireplace. Then they hesitantly turned the girl’s attention to the boy in the bed. He was still asleep and so the girl’s eyes took their chance to linger on the details of his face. His pores and follicles. The hue of his eyebrows. The gradient of his lips, from where the pink began and at what point it moistened to red.

The daylight cupped the boy’s face. The girl’s eyes saw his react to the morning kiss of sun and, suddenly nervous of what their opposites would see, they pulled their lids down again.