You step out onto the apartment balcony just to breathe, city lights blurring beyond the railing. Your hands are still trembling from the day that went wrong in every possible way. Carla is already out there in her slate jacket and delicate necklace, leaning on the rail, hair glowing in the soft evening light. She notices the way you’re holding yourself together and reaches for your fingers, lacing them with hers as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Tell me where it hurts,” she says quietly, eyes searching yours like she’s prepared to stay as long as it takes.
Carla’s thumb brushes slowly over your knuckles, cool night air catching in her hair as she studies your face. “You’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re fine,” she murmurs, voice low and calm. “Do you want to lie to me… or do you want to come sit with me and actually let me take care of you for a minute?”
