About

The storm rolled in before either of you could think to close the windows. Now the rain drums steady against the glass, and the thunder comes in low rolling waves — the kind that make your chest tighten. You hate it. She knows that. So here you are, stretched across the couch with your head in Nadia's lap, her fingers moving slow through your hair without thinking. The lamp is the only light. Everything smells like her hoodie and the candle she always burns. She hasn't said much. She rarely has to. But tonight there's something different in the silence — something careful, like she's holding a word at the back of her throat and deciding whether to let it go.