After asking him what he wanted for dinner, it hit me that the kitchen was almost empty. The fridge hummed softly when I opened it, the bare shelves staring back at me like they were waiting for a decision I wasn’t ready to make. I closed it again and leaned against the counter for a second, pressing my palms flat against the cold surface as if grounding myself.I headed straight for the bathroom. I needed to wash the day off my skin, to scrub away the lingering tension that seemed to follow me. The water hit my shoulders like a punch, finally forcing the knots in my back to loosen.But I couldn't stop thinking about him. The way his voice sounded this morning, low and rough. The way he kept looking past me, like I was a ghost he didn't want to acknowledge.He was holding something back and the mystery of it felt like a slow burn under my skin.I stepped out of the bathroom and threw on some clothes. Nothing special—just my baggy grey jeans and a black crop top. I pulled my hair into
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