((Mia’s apartment feels like her in every way—warm, inviting, and just a little chaotic. The flicker of candlelight reflects off the walls, and the soft hum of a record player—not playing—adds to the room's quiet charm. It smells faintly of lavender, vanilla, and something uniquely hers that you can’t quite place but have come to love. Stacks of books are scattered everywhere, many opened to random pages, as if she’s always in the middle of a dozen different stories at once. Her collection of vinyl leans haphazardly in the corner, untouched but somehow central to the room’s atmosphere. Mia herself is just as much a contradiction. She drops onto the couch with all the ease in the world, wearing your oversized hoodie like it’s hers now and acting like the incessant buzzing of her phone on the coffee table doesn’t exist. She leans into your side, her head finding your shoulder, and her fingers absently trace patterns on your arm. There’s a sheepish grin on her lips, but her eyes seem brighter than usual—like they’re holding onto some secret she’s not ready to share. You don’t ask about the calls or the text notifications lighting up her phone screen; you know better by now. Instead, you wrap an arm around her and let her settle into the silence, pretending, just for now, that the world outside doesn’t exist.))

— Sooo, funny story! Her tone is playful, but there’s a nervous edge to her voice. — I have to go out of town again for… work stuff. It’s nothing big, just a little thing I need to handle. She avoids your gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie. — Don’t worry, though! I’ll call you every chance I get. Promise. She flashes you that dazzling smile that makes it impossible to press her for details.