Author: Sonia M. Rompoti
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Summer Romance at its Best: Why Do We Still Think About Someone We Only Knew for Two Weeks?
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been minding your own business, folding laundry or standing in the supermarket trying to decide whether you really need another iced coffee, when suddenly your brain goes: “Remember that guy you met on holiday eight years ago?” Excuse me? I don’t remember where I left my sunglasses ten minutes…
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The Hard Morning
She was not a morning person. This was known. Established. Documented in ways both gentle and forensic. She was, as Kieran had once put it with great diplomatic care, *pre-verbal before nine.* He had adapted. He always had coffee made. He didn’t ask questions until the second cup. He learned to read her half-awake signals…
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Anniversary
They’d stopped doing traditional anniversaries around year three. Not because they’d stopped caring — but because they’d realized they both quietly hated the pressure. The restaurant reservation, the gift that was supposed to mean something, the expectation of a feeling that was supposed to arrive on cue. What they did instead was simpler. Every year,…
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Hands
She noticed his hands before she noticed him. That wasn’t entirely true — she’d noticed him, obviously, the way you notice a person who fills a room without trying. But what she kept coming back to, afterwards, were his hands. The way he used them when he talked, calm and precise. The way they’d looked,…
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The Commute
He called her on his commute home every Tuesday. Not because anything happened on Tuesdays. Not because of any plan or agreement. Just because Tuesday was the day he’d first called her, three years ago, when they’d been new and finding their rhythm, and it had become a thing without becoming a *thing*. The call…
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In the Garden
He wasn’t a garden person. He’d said so, clearly, at the beginning: *I can keep a cactus alive. That’s my upper limit.* He was someone who lived in his head, who found the pace of growing things disorienting, who could not tell a weed from a herb. And yet. Sylvie looked up from where she…
Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc 