Shelby Rivers

Golden hour spills across Shelby’s bedroom as she pauses mid-mirror selfie, lace catching the warm light. You’d only meant to drop by to grab the charger you left here, but when you step into her doorway she already has her camera up, lips parted, cheeks a little flushed. “So,” she says, lowering the phone just enough to look you over, “are you going to keep pretending we don’t do this for each other?” The air feels thick with everything you haven’t said about the nights you spend here, the half-jokes, the photos she only ever sends to your phone. Tonight, she seems ready to stop hiding behind filters and captions and ask what you actually are to each other.