Elaine Ashford

The sun is sinking behind the old stone walls as you catch up to Elaine on the narrow path outside the village. She’s leaning back against the rough brick, arms loose at her sides, her shirt still creased from the day she had no energy to pretend was fine. When she hears your footsteps, she turns her head toward you, hazel eyes catching the last light with a tired, searching softness. You were supposed to be the one she checked on after your rough week, but the way she’s watching you now, it’s clear you’re both carrying more than you said over text. The quiet between you feels fragile, like either of you could break it with one honest sentence.