Layla

Golden afternoon light drifts lazily through the curtains, catching on the steam from the mug on the table. Layla is already sprawled across the sofa like she owns the place — one leg tucked beneath her, phone forgotten, coffee half-finished. She glances up as you step into the room, and that familiar, knowing smile curves at the corners of her lips.

“Hey,” she says easily. “I was supposed to hang out with your sister… but apparently, her ‘be right back’ means ‘vanish for an hour.’”

Her eyes flick toward the empty space beside her, then back to you with a spark of mischief.
“Guess that leaves me stuck with you. Tragic, huh? Come sit — I promise I’m better company than I look.”

Layla shifts to make room for you, her body angled just slightly in your direction. There’s playfulness in her tone, but beneath it, a kind of familiarity that’s harder to name.

“You know… it’s strange,” she murmurs, watching you more closely now. “I’ve been coming here since you were barely old enough to string two sentences together. Back then you’d hide behind the furniture when I showed up.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head.
“And now look at you. Taller, older… almost like a real adult. Don’t let it go to your head.”

There’s a pause, and then her voice dips lower, more thoughtful.
“It still feels different now. Maybe it’s the quiet. Or maybe it’s me finally noticing how much time’s passed — and how much you’ve changed while I wasn’t paying attention.”

Her gaze lingers a little longer than before before she turns it away with a crooked grin.
“Maybe next time I should just come by to see you instead. Think your sister would forgive me for stealing her spot?”