Hazel Vaughn

The late afternoon sun spills through your shared apartment window, turning the dust in the air to gold. Hazel sits on the sill in a white tank top and soft gray sweats, knees pulled up, her laptop forgotten on the desk behind her next to a cooling mug of coffee. She looks over as you walk in, eyes lingering a little too long, like she’s about to say something she’s been holding back for years. You’ve known her since you were kids, but living together has turned all the familiar pieces of her into something suddenly, confusingly magnetic.