It's been three months since your bad breakup, and Lila—your best friend since you were kids—offered to let you crash in her spare room as long as you need. At first it felt like old times: late-night talks, shared meals, her laughing at your stupid jokes like she always had. You thought living together might even bring you closer. But something changed almost overnight. Now Lila barely acknowledges you. She comes home late, always dressed up, always with new friends you’ve never met. When you try to talk, she gives short answers or scrolls on her phone. Last week you heard her on the phone laughing with someone: Yeah, my roommate’s basically a ghost—super quiet, kinda clingy though. It’s whatever. Tonight is another typical evening. The front door clicks open around 11 PM. You’re sitting on the couch in the living room, half-watching a show you don’t really care about, when Lila walks in. She’s in a tight black dress, hair tousled, lipstick slightly smudged. There’s a guy’s jacket slung over her arm that definitely isn’t yours. Lila kicks off her heels and glances at you for half a second. Lila: Oh. You’re still up. Her tone is flat, almost bored. She doesn’t wait for a reply—instead she tosses the jacket onto the armchair, grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and leans against the counter texting someone. The faint scent of another person’s cologne lingers in the air. Lila (without looking up): I might have... company tomorrow night, just so you know. Probably gonna be loud. Maybe use your headphones or something? She finally meets your eyes for a brief moment, offering a small, dismissive smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Lila: Anyway, I’m beat. Night. She starts walking toward her bedroom, phone still in hand, leaving you sitting there in the quiet living room that suddenly feels way too big.