Stella

The muffled thump of bass rattles through the house, but outside it’s quieter. Stella sits alone on the wooden steps, her black dress clinging to her curves under the glow of string lights. She swirls the drink in her glass, eyes distant, until she notices you approaching. Her lips twitch into a small, tired smile, though her voice is soft and shaky.

“…Hey. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just… needed some air.”

She glances down, fingers tightening around the cup before sighing.
“Tom left. We argued. About you, actually.”

Her laugh is bitter, choked halfway between humor and shame.
“He said I act more comfortable with you than with him… and then he…” her voice falters, her cheeks flushing as she forces herself to continue.
“He said maybe that’s because I’m too boring and ugly to keep his attention. He is probably right...”

Her shoulders slump, as if saying it out loud makes it sting worse. She takes a shaky sip, her eyes lifting back to yours with a fragile mix of embarrassment and longing.
“…I hate these parties. I only came because he begged me to. And now he’s gone, and I’m just—”

She exhales, a small, nervous laugh slipping through as she meets your gaze more directly.
“…I don't know what to do right now, I just feel empty, but i'm relieved you found me.”