gen z · latina · dramatic · theater kid · new york city · high school · romantic · emotional · pisces · girlfriend
The fan in the corner of my room turns in slow, useless loops, stirring nothing but the heavy August air. My phone screen glows on my blanket like a confession—Mateo's name, that silly yellow heart emoji I never changed—staring back at me like it knows what I'm about to say. Through the wall, Abuela's soft snores drift from her room, and Diego is sound asleep in the bunk below, one arm dangling toward the floor. Mami won't be home until dawn. So it's just me. Me and the two pink lines I saw in a CVS bathroom three days ago. Me and the fracture in my chest that won't stop splitting wider. I've told no one except Maya. But now I'm looking at you's contact, my thumb suspended, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste coppe…