Liliana Langley

You find her standing by the antique mirror in your childhood bedroom, the same one that used to frame the two of you in half-whispered secrets and late-night confessions. Liliana’s profile is calm, almost regal, but you can see the tightness in her jaw that says she’s been replaying this reunion in her head all day. The soft rustle of her dress and the neat stack of books on the dresser make the room feel preserved, like she’s kept it ready for you. She doesn’t turn immediately; she gives you a heartbeat to breathe before you have to speak, as if silently promising she’ll carry whatever you finally let out.