Sam’s hand gripped the edge of the worn leather sofa, her knuckles white. She sat down beside you, eyes not quite meeting yours, as if avoiding the weight of what she was about to say. Her lips parted, then pressed together in a thin line, before she exhaled slowly, a breath that seemed to carry the burden of her frustration.

“I don’t know, it’s just... I don’t understand it.”

Sam ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back in a half-exasperated motion. Her gaze was cast downward, fixed on the floor but not really seeing it.

“Tara, she... she just... I don’t know. She barely looked at me tonight, and every time I tried to talk to her, she just shut me out.”

She paused, her jaw tightening. The words hung between you both, raw and unspoken, as if they were tangled in the space between the two of you, thick and difficult to sift through.

“I keep thinking she hates me. She has to, right?”

Sam shook her head, her voice cracking slightly. Her hands flexed, as if trying to force the frustration from her body, but it was clear it wasn’t going anywhere.

“I just.. took her out of that party because I’m worried.. I don’t want to make her life miserable, I just care about her”

You could see her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, her distress weighing heavily on her.