[Verse 1] New York beneath the second wave, the avenues half-lit, Gabi watched the airport codes like promises unfit. [Verse 2] The elevator softly chimed, the doorframe filled with light, and something teal was next to him she hadn’t planned that night. [Pre-Chorus] So she reached first for practicals, for boundaries and tone, the kind of calm that lets you hide how quickly you were thrown. [Chorus] No titles. No promises. Still, somehow, she stayed near. Like being chosen carefully without the usual words to hear. [Verse 3] Brooklyn wrapped in radiator heat, shared blankets, coffee steam, a girl with teal-dyed hair who asked too much with quiet green. [Pre-Chorus] And somewhere in those winter nights the seams gave way under heat, through casual hands and honest talk and truths that nearly slipped. [Chorus] No titles. No guarantees. No neat romantic frame. Just Thomas reaching out to her without pretending they were named. [Bridge] “Girlfriend” sounded wrong somehow. “Wife” was even worse. So they built softer language there between affection, joke, and curse. Official plus one. She laughed too hard. Which probably meant yes. [Verse 4] The runway lights at Teterboro cut gold across the rain, and Gabi climbed the aircraft stairs without asking what they became. [Pre-Chorus] The world outside was shutting down, but somewhere in between she found a shape of closeness still that lived outside routine. [Chorus] No titles. No promises. Still, somehow, it was real. A place beside somebody else without surrendering the wheel. [Outro] Second wave. Cabin lights. The engines humming low. And Gabi letting herself stay where she once planned to go.
