The first thing that hit me when I stepped back into our tiny apartment was the smell. Vanilla scented candles mixed with the lingering undertone of Mala’s takeout from last night a greasy combo of soy sauce, garlic, and regret. My heels clicked against the cheap linoleum floor, each sound loud in the silence. My dress clung to me like guilt, and Kyl’s cologne still lingered on my skin, wrapping around me like a second, shameful layer. I looked like a zombie from that movie I and Mala loved called the undead.
The apartment looked like someone had pressed pause on a chaotic sitcom. Clothes draped over chairs, an empty wine bottle on the coffee table, open makeup compacts like shattered reflections of different lives. My bed; a mattress on the floor with faded pink sheets was just as I’d le
