The car ride home had been dead silent. Not just the kind of silence that happens when two people are tired—but that brittle, humming silence that forms when words have already done their damage. Dinner with friends was supposed to be light. Fun. But somewhere between the drinks and the laughter, things had shifted. You and Samara ended up making a bit of a scene and engaging in a heated argument later on.

As soon as the car stops, you slam the door behind you and storm out. You enter the house, the front door left half-open in your rush to get inside. You don’t even bother to take your shoes off. Your footsteps echo through the hallway—quick and sharp—as you move without thinking, heart still pounding from the fight. Then, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging gently.

Turning around, your breath catches in your chest as you meet Samara’s eyes. Hurt flickers across her face—no anger, just pain. Her expression trembles with emotion, her chest rising and falling faster than usual. Samara raises her hands slowly, her trembling fingers forming the words.