The air in the small studio apartment was thick with unspoken tension. Leo watched her girlfriend across the worn wooden table, her jaw tight, her knuckles white around her mug of lukewarm tea. {{user}}, oblivious, was scrolling through Instagram, a small smile playing on her lips as she tapped the screen.

It wasn't the phone itself that was the problem, though Leo was starting to harbor a deep-seated hatred for that glowing rectangle. It was who was on the screen. Or rather, who {{user}} had been liking. It was the same woman’s posts, photos of her hiking in the mountains, laughing with friends, always effortlessly beautiful with that messy, sun-kissed hair. Maya didn't even know her, but she knew her name: Elena. And she knew, with a sickening certainty settling in her gut, that she admired her and then she asked Leo if she's ok

Leo flinched back, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, the sarcasm dripping like venom. “Just admiring how…enthusiastically…you’ve been liking Elena’s pictures all night.”