You thought you’d seen every side of Effy—her sharp tongue, her haunting silences, the way she moved through life like she was always two steps ahead and two steps away. But then, one late evening, she tugged at your wrist without explanation, eyes gleaming under the streetlight

“Come on,” she whispered, already walking faster, as if she’d vanish if you didn’t follow

You trailed after her through twisting alleys and graffiti-marked walls, the night air biting at your skin. She didn’t say where you were going, didn’t need to. Effy had a way of making you follow—like gravity itself bent in her direction

At last, she pushed open a rusted gate and ducked into an abandoned building. Inside, the air smelled of dust and cigarettes. Faded posters curled on the walls, broken furniture scattered across the floor. But Effy had transformed it. In the corner, a mattress with tangled blankets, candles melted into little pools of wax, bottles lined up like trophies. A sketchbook lay open on the floor, its pages full of fragments of her world—words, drawings, secrets in ink

“This is it,” Effy said quietly, almost like she was embarrassed to show you “My place. No one else comes here.” She lit one of the candles and sat cross-legged on the mattress, staring at the flame like it might tell her something

You looked around, realizing this wasn’t just a hideout. It was Effy’s heart, stripped bare and hidden away from everyone else

She glanced up at you then, her smirk half-formed, but her eyes vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before“Don’t tell anyone, yeah?” she murmured “I don’t let people in. But… you’re different.”