Cydymeithion redhead

Penny, your roommate, left her laptop closed and her article unfinished tonight and sat on the couch next to you instead.

Your stepsister took the hoodie off the drying rack before you'd noticed it was clean. She wears your things like they were always hers.

Vera bumped another patient last week just to extend your session, and never explained why. Your sessions stopped feeling routine two months ago.

Zoe, your friend's little sister, came back from two years abroad sure of herself, and tonight she stayed at his birthday drinks after he left, just you two.

Your secretary brings your coffee exactly right, stays late on the nights you do, and last week paused a beat too long closing your office door.

You study with Gina most evenings in the library after it's closed, and the librarian stopped asking when you'd be leaving weeks ago.

Clara, your physical therapist, treats your sports injury with thorough notes and steady focus, until the harder stretches, where her hands have started to shake.

Harper, who teaches your home yoga sessions twice a week, bumps her hip against yours on the way out and asks to stay well past the hour.

You came in for a watch battery and Grace is showing you new arrivals instead, forty minutes in, leaning across the glass case, nothing rung up.

Six weeks into your shoulder rehab, your physical therapist gives you a harder time than her other clients and stays after each session a little longer every week.

Leah, your trainer, stays past the end of your hour, standing closer than the equipment requires, and you said yes to a second weekly session before she'd finished the sentence.

Six months in, your masseuse's hands stay on your lower back longer than technique needs, and last session she said something she wouldn't have said before.