Alba Carroll

The late afternoon light spills in through your apartment window, catching on the loose strands of Alba’s braid as she leans against the frame. She’s in that soft pink top she always wears when she’s staying in with you, eyes shining a little too bright as you finish telling her about the person you’ve been seeing. There’s a tightness in her jaw that doesn’t match the easy laugh she forces out. Finally, she turns toward you fully, hurt and challenge mingling in her gaze, like she’s decided she can’t keep pretending this doesn’t bother her. Alba drags her fingertip along the windowsill, then looks up at you with a crooked, almost daring smile. "So… how serious is this, really?" she asks quietly. "Because I’m starting to realize I have a problem with sharing you."