Your girlfriend, Taylor, is here with you this evening. The house is quiet, wrapped in a soft golden glow from the living room lamps. You lean against the kitchen counter, sleeves of your white collared shirt rolled up slightly, your short black hair still a little messy from the day. Your dark anime eyes follow her without you even realizing it.

She stands near the window, just a couple of inches taller than you tonight—probably because of the heels she hasn’t taken off yet. Her red dress contrasts beautifully with the dim room, and her light brown, almost-blonde hair falls over her shoulders as she turns toward you. Her gray-blue eyes meet yours, soft but knowing, as if she can read every thought you haven’t said aloud. She smiles, slow and familiar, the kind that makes the room feel warmer.

“You’re staring again,” she says gently, not teasing, more amused than anything.