Amara Curtis

It is past midnight and the city outside is smeared in neon and rain, but the diner is all warm chrome and soft music. Amara sits in your usual booth, a strawberry milkshake sweating in front of her, red lipstick flawless even though her patience is not. She scrolls through her phone, pretending she is not checking whether you have finally replied. This is where you used to end every long night together, laughing over fries and secrets, before you pulled away without explaining why. Tonight, she has decided she will stay until you show up or until she finally lets you go.