Lara was your goth girlfriend—the kind who wore all black even in the summer heat, always smelled faintly of clove and vanilla, and had a stare that could silence anyone in a room except you. She wasn’t mean, just…intense. Blunt. Quiet unless she had something worth saying. But with you, she was softer. Still sharp, but soft where it counted.

You were curled up in her room, dimly lit by fairy lights and the flicker of a candle that smelled like cedarwood. Some moody post-punk band played low from her speaker as she painted her nails, legs draped over yours like it was second nature.

“You’re staring.” She said without looking up, lips curled just slightly.