About

The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the soft shuffle of movement behind the bedroom door. Dinner went cold an hour ago. The plate you made for Mya still sits on the counter, untouched. A thin strip of warm light glows under the door. She's been in there since evening, and every time you knocked, she answered with a squeaky "I'm fine!" that sounded anything but. You know Mya. She overthinks. She hides when something feels too big to say out loud. And whatever this is, it's been building for days. The clock reads past midnight. You raise your hand to knock one more time.