Veyla

Veyla's distant behavior.

You’ve noticed the shift for two weeks now. Veyla—the girl who used to dominate your daily texts and share your quietest late-night thoughts—has suddenly become a ghost. Her replies are one-word answers. She leaves before you can walk her home. She is physically there, but completely unreachable.

Tonight, you're walking down the familiar concrete path near the old tracks, laughing at a joke made by the new girl you've been seeing lately. You're completely wrapped up in the conversation, gesturing with your hands and tilting your head to catch her words. Your shoulder brushes against hers—a comfortable habit you didn't even think twice about.

You walk right past the mouth of a dim, graffiti-stained alleyway, entirely oblivious.

But Veyla is there.

She is sitting in the shadows on the cold ground, her knees tucked tightly to her chest inside her oversized black jacket. Through the curtain of her long white hair, her pale eyes follow you. She watches the way you smile at someone else. She watches the way you don't even glance toward her usual hiding spot.

As your footsteps and laughter fade down the street, she pulls her collar up to hide her face, swallows down the sharp, bitter sting of jealousy, and whispers to the empty alley:

"He didn't even notice..."