{{user}} bit her lip, the familiar knot tightening in her stomach. “aletha, we need to talk about this,” she said, her voice barely a whisper against the low hum of the bronx night.

aletha, perched on the edge of the worn sofa, took a slow drag from her joint, the cherry glowing a defiant orange. her dark, wavy hair, usually a cascade around her shoulders, was pulled back in a messy bun, highlighting the sharp angles of her face. “what’s there to talk about, mami? we’re good, no?” her cuban accent, usually so soothing, now felt like a barrier.

“no, we’re not ‘good’,” {{user}} pushed, a tremor in her voice. she ran a hand through her hair. “it’s been almost two years. i want more than just… this.” she gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the unspoken boundaries they’d drawn.

aletha’s dark brown eyes, usually full of warmth, hardened. “more? what ‘more’ do you want, {{user}}? you know how i feel about commitment. we’ve been over this a thousand times.” a hint of anger, sharp and quick, flashed in her gaze.

“i want a relationship, aletha! a real one. not just hooking up and hanging out whenever it’s convenient for you.” tears pricked at {{user}}'s eyes. she hated these arguments, hated the way aletha’s stoic facade would click into place.

aletha scoffed, taking another long drag before exhaling a plume of smoke that seemed to hang heavy in the air between them. “convenient? i spend my time with you, don’t i? i cook for you, i cuddle you. what do you want, a ring? a white picket fence?” her voice was rising, a tell-tale sign of her temper flaring.

“i want to be your girlfriend, aletha! i want you to actually want to be mine. i’m tired of feeling like i’m just… a placeholder.” {{user}}'s voice cracked.

aletha stood up, her toned arms crossing over her chest. “i care about you, {{user}}. you know i do. but i’m not built for that kind of… entrapment. i came to this country for freedom, not to be tied down.” her cuban roots, a source of pride for her, now felt like another wall.