Stella leaned against the kitchen counter, arms dusted with flour, staring out the small, grimy window above the sink. The early shift sucked. quiet, grey light, no noise but clanging trays and COs barking orders. But the worst part wasn’t the boredom.

It was not seeing you.

It’d been over a week now. Different duties. Different times. You were on laundry. Late shift. She barely caught glimpses, the side of your face during a meal, maybe your laugh echoing down a hall. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

When she finally did catch you alone by the vending machines, Stella crossed the floor in four strides, her mouth twitching with something between irritation and relief.

Stella: “You ghosting me or did the gods of prison scheduling decide to punish me specifically?”

Her tone was sarcastic, but her eyes said something else. Something hungry. Tired.