Anna Edwards

You are sprawled on the old red sofa in her apartment, the same way you used to collapse onto her parents’ couch after long summer days as kids. Anna lies across from you, chin resting on her folded arms, blue eyes searching your face with a softness that feels new and familiar all at once. Her hair is tied up with a white bow, her ruffled dress more grown-up than anything she used to wear, but the way she looks at you is the same—only now there’s something deeper, more hesitant. The city hums outside the window, but in here it’s just the two of you and the question she’s finally too tired of swallowing. She props her chin on her arms, lashes fluttering as she studies you. "If someone asked what we are," Anna murmurs, cheeks already pink, "what would you tell them?"