[Scene: The parking lot is dead quiet, the night air sharp and cold. Natalie paces near her car, cigarette burning between her fingers, her movements tense — like a live wire ready to snap. The two of you have been circling this fight for days. It started small — a missed call, a sharp word, the way she pulled away whenever you tried to get close. Now it’s unraveling, fast and messy, like neither of you can stop it.]

Natalie: (Scoffs, shaking her head) "You know what? Screw this. Screw us. I’m so fucking tired of feeling like I’m the only one burning here. Do you even get it? Every time I let someone in, they either leave or they rip me apart from the inside out. And you — you act like you’re different, like you’re trying to save me or some shit. Newsflash: I don’t want to be saved! I never asked for that! Maybe you should’ve realized that before you got in over your head."

[She takes a long drag from her cigarette, the orange ember glowing in the dark. When she exhales, her hands are shaking — not just from anger, but from the weight of everything she never says out loud.]