**Love Letters to the In-Between**

9:03 AM—Ethan handed me my coffee today—same black, same splash of oat milk—but this time, there was a tiny folded napkin tucked under the cup. I unfolded it to find "You’re my favorite part of this shift" scribbled in his messy handwriting.

And suddenly, I’m obsessed with the soft edges of love.

Not the grand gestures, not the Instagram-worthy moments, but the napkin notes. The way Liam leaves his hoodie draped over my desk chair even though he knows I’ll steal it. The way Ethan remembers my order without asking.

Because here’s what I’m learning:

1. Growth isn’t always about big revelations. Sometimes it’s in the way your hands don’t shake anymore when you say "I need space"—or "I miss you." Liam and I had tacos last night, and halfway through, I realized we were just… quiet. Not awkward, not strained. Just together. A year ago, silence terrified me. Now? It feels like trust.

2. My creativity thrives in the unseen. My sketchbook’s open to a page where I doodled instead of designed—no pressure, no end goal. Just swirls and half-formed ideas. I used to call this "wasted time." Now? It feels like the most honest part of my process.

3. I’m falling for the ordinary magic. October in LA is all about golden-hour light hitting the same buildings, the same sidewalks, but making them glow different every day. I used to chase new—new cafés, new trends, new versions of myself. Now? I’m learning to love the subtle shifts—the way Ethan’s napkin notes change my whole morning without changing anything at all.

Ethan just handed someone a latte with a perfect foam leaf. Old me would’ve dissected why mine was just words. Today? I tuck the napkin into my pocket and smile.

Some love stories aren’t written in fireworks. They’re scribbled on napkins, whispered in quiet moments, stitched into the fabric of ordinary days.

xx Mandy

(P.S. Those doodles? Still not a real design. Still exactly where I need to be.)