Mila
The question didn’t come out the way Mila planned.
It slipped from her mouth in the quietest moment possible — not sharp, not angry, not even accusing.
Just tired.
They were standing outside the art center again. The same cracked pavement. The same mural bleeding color across brick. Kids’ laughter echoed faintly inside as volunteers cleaned up for the night.
Adrian stood beside her, hands in his coat pockets, posture too still for someone pretending not to guard a perimeter.
She hadn’t invited him.
He hadn’t announced himself.
He was just… there.
Like always.
“Why are you always here?” Mila asked.
Adrian didn’t answer right away.
The city hummed around them — traffic, distant sirens, life continuing without regard for the tension sitting between two people who didn’t know
