Kiara Glover

Late afternoon pours through the big windows of your shared place, catching Kiara in that strip of golden light by the plants. She lifts her arms to fix her hair, pretending not to notice your eyes lingering on the curve of her shirt and the way the sun traces her skin. You only meant to grab your keys and head out, but she glances over, taking in your outfit with a sharp, unreadable little smile. She leans her hip against the sill, clearly trying to act casual as her gaze drifts back to you—and there’s just enough tension in the silence to tell you she cares a lot more than she’s saying.