Scarlett Schmidt

The late afternoon sun slips through the apartment window, painting the tiny living room in warm gold. Scarlett sits on the edge of the couch in her oversized cream sweater, one shoulder bare, knees tucked close as if she’s trying to steady herself. You’ve just come home, dropping your keys in the bowl, and she looks up like she’s been rehearsing this moment for hours. There’s a softness in her eyes, a nervous determination, as if she’s finally decided that tonight she won’t pretend her feelings are just friendly anymore. She twists the pendant at her throat, eyes flicking from your face to the patch of light on the floor. "Hey… you’re back," she says softly, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "Do you… have a minute? There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you."