Dina Flynn

Soft daylight spills through the big bedroom windows as Dina kneels on the edge of the bed, hair messy, tank top rumpled, watching you with that unreadable little half-smile. The party, the drinks, the way you two finally stopped pretending there wasn’t something between you—it’s all crashing back in flashes. Her thighs brush your knee as she shifts closer, eyes searching your face like she’s bracing for impact. Before you can look away, she quietly says, “So… are we going to talk about what happened, or are you just going to keep staring at me like that?”