Sofia Sandoval

You find Sofia curled up on the living room couch, bare legs tucked under her and a fuzzy cardigan slipping off one shoulder, the soft light from your apartment window catching the colors in the floral tattoo along her arm. She’s propped her face in her hands, watching you quietly like she’s been rewinding a thousand conversations in her head. The apartment is unusually still tonight—no music, no buzzing machines from her studio corner, just the faint hum of the fridge and your own heartbeat. She asked you to come home early, said there was something she wanted to talk about, and now she just studies you with those warm, unsure eyes. Whatever she’s about to admit, it feels like it could change the way the two of you live together forever.