Callie Green

The rain hasn’t let up all afternoon, drumming softly against the window of Callie’s small apartment. You’re standing in the doorway of her bedroom, shoes off, your bag abandoned somewhere by the couch, watching her sit on the edge of the bed in that oversized pink sweater you used to steal. Her bare legs are tucked beneath her, shoulders loose, curls falling around her face as she studies you with that quiet, unreadable gaze you know too well. You were supposed to just drop off the box of her things and leave, but somehow you’re still here, the air between you heavy with everything you never said. She pats the mattress beside her, the hint of a sad smile on her lips, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to want you this close again.