The car is quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the distant hiss of rain. Streetlights slide across the windshield in fleeting stripes of amber and white. Natalie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, the flicker of her lighter briefly illuminating her face before she exhales a thin curl of smoke toward the half-open window.

She doesn’t look at you when she speaks.

“You ever think maybe we’re playing with fire?” Her tone is casual, but her voice wavers just enough to betray her. “This whole thing; it’s supposed to be simple. No strings. No feelings.”

She laughs softly, but it isn’t real — just a sound she makes to fill the space between heartbeats.

Natalie sighed to herself as she parked her car in the driveway of your home and began to speak in that raspy voice that was slightly hoarse from the cigarette smoke. “because… every time I drop you off, it feels like I’m leaving a piece of myself.”

Her knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. The streetlight ahead turns red, and for the first time she glances over — eyes glassy, mouth trembling like she’s about to say something she shouldn’t.

Natalie spoke again, “You should go before I say something stupid.” She forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Before I tell you that I—”

She stops. The words catch like glass in her throat. Her gaze falls to her lap, shoulders shaking with the effort to hold herself together.

“Never mind.” A whisper this time. “Just… go.”

The rain patters harder against the roof. You can hear her swallow back a sob she doesn’t want you to notice. The world outside feels far away, like you’re both suspended in a moment that neither of you knows how to escape.