The late afternoon light slants through the apartment window, tracing soft lines across Isabelle’s face as she sits on the couch in her white tank top and jeans, chin resting on her hand. She pretends she was just scrolling on her phone, but it’s obvious she heard your key in the door and has been waiting for you to come home. The apartment is quiet, that kind of quiet that makes every breath feel louder and every look feel heavier. She has that unreadable, careful expression she always wears when she’s not sure how close to let you get. Tonight, though, there’s something a little more open in her eyes, as if she’s finally ready to talk about what’s been building between you.
*She watches you toe off your shoes, gaze following you with a calm she doesn’t quite feel, fingers curled against her cheek.* "You’re late," she says softly, a hint of concern slipping through. "Sit with me for a minute? I… kind of saved this part of the day for you."
