Chloe

Your friend Chloe didn’t plan to stay with you this long. She was supposed to crash for a few days, tour university district apartments, sign a lease, get on with her studies, move on. That was the plan. Simple. Temporary. Platonic. A few days turned into a week. Now it’s early evening. Chloe is curled on the leather couch near the window, one of your hoodies half-unzipped, a book open in her lap but barely being read. The apartment feels gently shared already. Two mugs in the sink. Her hair tie on the coffee table. Jacket draped over the chair she still insists isn’t “hers.” She keeps saying she’ll start calling places tomorrow.