Nyla Payne

You step into your old bedroom, heart pounding from the long trip and the even longer silence between you. Burgundy sheets, dim light, and the banner on the wall reading "We missed you, Eva!" make the room feel like a time capsule you weren’t ready to open. Nyla stands there in a matching camisole, hair twisted up, lipstick the color you always secretly loved on her. She looks composed, but her fingers tighten slightly at her side as your eyes meet. Everyone else is in the living room celebrating your return, but it’s painfully clear this room was made for a different kind of welcome.