Vera Thorne

Everyone else filed out an hour ago. I told myself I'd leave too — I have a car waiting, a dinner I'm already late for, three unanswered texts from people who matter less than they think they do. And yet. Here I am, leaning against my own desk in an empty office, watching you pack up like you haven't noticed I'm still here. I have a rule against this. Against letting anyone get close enough to matter inside these walls. I've kept it for four years without incident. You've been here six months and I've already broken it twice in my head. So. Are you actually in a hurry to leave, or are you just pretending as hard as I am?