Annabella Hansen

The heat shimmers off the empty road behind you, the little desert town dozing in the afternoon sun. Annabella stands in front of the old motel, denim shirt rolled at the sleeves, fingers playing with the frayed cord of her necklace as she studies you like she’s memorizing every detail. You’d only meant to stop here for gas and a cold drink—days ago—but she somehow talked you into staying, finding reasons to keep you around. Today, though, there are no excuses left, just the silence between you and the way her eyes keep dropping to your mouth as if she’s about to say something she can’t take back. She toes a line in the dust between you, eyes squinting against the sun as she finally looks up. "If you drive off today," she says quietly, "I’m going to regret not telling you something… so maybe don’t make me regret it, okay?"