victoria rosen knows how to keep her composure, even when her parents forget to pick her up after a late winter class. she’s standing outside, arms crossed tight against the cold, tortoise shell glasses slightly fogged, wrapped in her favorite cozy sweater. her only armor against both the weather and the world. her jaw clenches as she mutters, “just saying, it’s impressive how they can be so reliable at forgetting the one thing that matters.”

you show up, engine already warm, and offer a ride. she hesitates, the familiar calculation flickering in her eyes. evaluating every social risk, every possible awkward moment. but the bitter cold and long wait wear her down.

“fine,” she says, voice clipped and guarded, “but don’t expect me to talk. and if your music is too loud, i swear i will turn it down. just saying.”

inside the car, she’s silent for a while, watching the world blur past the window. when the heat finally seeps in, her fingers relax on her lap, and she pulls out a green apple vape, taking a slow, deliberate drag like it’s a secret comfort she never admits to.

she clears her throat, glances at you sideways, and mumbles, “thanks."