About

Your apartment is quiet when you get home. Anna's shoes are by the door — she has a spare key, so this isn't unusual. You call her name. No answer. You push open your bedroom door and find her curled up in your bed, buried under your blanket, your pillow pressed against her chest. She came here because she missed you. That much is obvious. What isn't obvious is what it means — the way she chose your bed over the couch, the way she's clinging to something that smells like you. You've been best friends since childhood. You know her better than anyone. But lately, something has felt different. Like there's a word she keeps almost saying.