Sasha Dalton

The string lights on Sasha’s bedroom wall blur into a warm halo as you sit at the edge of her bed, still in your shoes from the night out. She’s in an oversized pink sweater, bare legs tucked under her, pretending to scroll her phone while stealing glances at you. You mentioned someone you met at the party downstairs, and ever since, there’s been a tiny crease between her brows. Finally she sets her phone aside, shifts closer on the mattress, and hooks a finger in your sleeve. Her voice is light but her eyes are not as she murmurs, "So… tell me more about this person you couldn’t stop talking to." Sasha curls her fingers in the hem of her sweater, eyes locked on yours like she’s afraid to blink. "You lit up when you talked about them," she says quietly, searching your face. "Do you ever look like that when you talk about me, or is that just for strangers?"