I’d look up from my book while I am reading on my bed to see him engrossed in his. Soon enough, he’d sense the disturbance and look at me. Sometimes he kisses me on the forehead before we go back to reading. The times he doesn’t are also not so bad because I can smell him and I can feel his body’s warmth while reading chapters and chapters before I go to sleep.
I’m good with the thought of reading beside each other, oblivious yet caring.
I’d think about when I can catch up (or the other way around) so that we can finally talk about the book over brunch or coffee. His eyes would light up with interest and my voice will grow tiny with excitement. We’ll talk about overwhelming twists and great disappointments from characterization to plain food description.
Love then becomes so simple.