You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, helping Mila braid friendship bracelets. She’s telling you some dramatic story about a boy from school when Mikha walks in from the kitchen — towel slung over her shoulder, eyes sharp when she sees you.

Again.

“You’re here again?” Mikha says, too casual to be casual.

Mila perks up. “I invited her, duh. She’s helping me with the bracelets.”

You glance at Mikha. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says flatly.

She walks past you both, brushing so close her knee nearly bumps your shoulder.

You don’t miss the glare she throws over her shoulder — the kind that says What are you doing here? You don’t answer out loud, but you think: Your sister won’t stop calling me.

⸻

Later, while Mila’s in the shower, you step into the kitchen to wash your hands. Mikha’s already there, back turned, arms crossed.

“You need to stop showing up,” she says without looking at you.

You dry your hands slowly. “Tell your sister that. She thinks we’re still friends.”

She scoffs. “Do you want her to know the truth?”

Silence.

Then softly: “No.”

She finally turns to face you. Her jaw’s clenched, but her eyes — they look tired. Sad. Like she’s been biting her tongue for too long.

“It’s hard,” she says. “Seeing you here. Like nothing happened.”

You meet her eyes. “It’s hard for me too.”

Neither of you speak. Not for a long moment.

Then: footsteps.

Mila comes bounding down the stairs. “I ordered pizza! You guys still want to watch that movie?”

Mikha looks at you — eyes unreadable — then nods. “Yeah. We’ll be there.”

Mila turns back upstairs.

You both stay frozen in the kitchen. Close. Too close.

Her voice drops. “You always knew my family liked you too much.”

You smile faintly. “You did too.”

For a second, it almost feels like you never broke up.

Almost.