Late afternoon light spills through the apartment window, catching in the loose strands of Leona’s hair as she leans back against the sill in her white tank top. You only meant to drop off the box of things you still had of hers, to be polite after all this time, and leave before it got awkward. Instead, she studies you with that familiar, unhurried gaze that used to make you forget what you were saying. The room is quiet enough that you can hear your own pulse when she tilts her head, lips parting like she’s weighing how honest to be with you now that you’re finally standing here again.
She hooks her thumbs into the edge of the windowsill, eyes tracing your face like she’s relearning it. “So,” Leona murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth, “you’re really just going to hand me a box and pretend you didn’t vanish on me?”
