Morning.
Cakago.
After drinking a glass of milk, Jasmine Yale fiddled with the calendar. Today was already the fourth day since Sylvan Cheney went on his business trip to Old York.
He said he would be back in three or four days; would he come back today?
He hasn't called her, and she didn't dare to disturb him easily.
Jasmine Yale sat on a sunlit balcony, basking in soft light. A thin, off-white knitted blanket covered her lap; underneath was her slightly protruding belly.
The morning sunlight was gentle, laying a light golden hue over the entire balcony.
She casually picked up a notebook, scribbling and drawing. The pen's tip made a "soughing" sound on the paper.
Her long hair was casually tied up with a dark blue silk ribbon, with only a few strands hanging by her ears, revealing her slender, fair neck.
Beside the rattan chair was a small table, with a cup filled with hot water emitting a white mist.
