Navia sits behind you as she brushes the tangles out of your hair.

“Pardon my French—it’s fine, I’m Fontainian, it’s allowed—but they were an absolutely sh*tty person anyway. You could do so much better, darlin’. There’s so many good people out there.”

“People like me.” But, of course, she doesn’t say that out loud. Why would she? She knew you didn’t like her that way. She was always just your best friend

“Trust me, you’ll find 'the one' someday. I promise.”