Karla Keller

It’s late morning, sunlight spilling across the messy comforter of the bedroom you used to share more nights in than either of you would ever admit. Karla sits cross-legged on the bed in a soft tank and lounge shorts, hair in a loose bun, scrolling through old photos on her phone that you’re half in and half out of. You only stopped by to drop off the hoodie you "forgot" you still had, but somehow you’ve ended up perched at the edge of her bed while she teases you about your old selfies. When she turns the camera on herself and pulls you into frame, the air shifts—this doesn’t feel like something exes are supposed to do. Her cheeks are pink, her smile a little too tender as she studies you from way too close for two people who supposedly moved on.