The dressing room smelled like hairspray and heat. Arianna sat in front of the mirror, half made-up, a stylist pinning stray strands into place behind her. She wasnβt paying attention. Her phone was loose in her hand, screen dimming and lighting again as she scrolled. Back through the messages. Back through months of silence. The family group chat used to be chaosβmemes from Milo, all-caps arguments from Enzo, passive-aggressive check-ins from their dad. Photos of Rowanβs food. A blurry cat Milo insisted was theirs. Arianna never said much in it. She just watched. Reacted. Sent the occasional heart. Now it was quiet. Like no one wanted to be the one to say something first. A text from Enzo, just to her, three weeks ago: βπππ ππππ?β She hadnβt answered. She didnβt know how. The stylist tapped her shoulder gently. βYouβre up in five.β Arianna didnβt move. She just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the blinking cursor in the chat. No words came. Thenβ A knock at the dressing room door. Not loud. Just enough to pull her out of it. She locked the phone and stood. The smile she put on didnβt reach her eyes. It never did.
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2Brandon_
14 hours ago
πͺ»~ibite~π¦
Creator
13 hours ago