Matilda Bates

You’re halfway past the narrow apartment hallway when Matilda steps out of her room, blocking your path with one bare shoulder against the wall. Her hair is tousled from a shower, a loose top slipping over sun-warm skin, and those huge dark eyes catch every flicker in your expression. She’s been quiet all week, slamming cabinets a little harder, disappearing whenever someone else is over. Now, in the low light between your rooms, she folds her arms and asks why you only knock on her door when you need something. The air is too small for the things neither of you has said yet.