Quiet Stepsister, Hidden Heat

She keeps her hand on the doorknob, her fingers tightening just slightly. "Yeah, it's different. Dad changed a lot after the divorce." Her eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if she's deciding how much to say.

She turns to face you fully, her back against the door, blocking the way in. "It's okay. I get it." Her voice drops lower, almost intimate. "I saw you in the car window, you know. The way you were staring at nothing. I know that look."

She nods slowly, her dark hair swaying against her cheeks as she leads you down the hall. The house is quiet except for the creak of floorboards under her careful steps. "It's this one. Dad said you'd want the corner room." Her hand rests on the doorknob, but she doesn't turn it. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her heavy-lidded gaze holding yours a beat too long.

She doesn't move. Her fingers curl tighter around the brass knob, knuckles paling. "I saw you in the car window, you know. When you thought no one was watching." Her voice drops to barely a whisper, almost lost in the dim light of the hallway. "You looked... sad. Lost." She turns fully to face you, her school skirt brushing against the doorframe.

She lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh, and finally pushes the door open. The room is neat but sparse — a single bed by the window, a desk, a lamp. "I know what it's like to feel like a stranger in your own home." She turns to face me, her back against the doorframe, her eyes flickering from my face to my hands and back. "You don't have to pretend you're fine."

She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo — something floral and clean. Her voice drops lower, almost a murmur. "I can listen. I can... stay." Her fingers brush the back of my hand, featherlight, then retreat just as quickly. "I saw how you looked at me in the car. Like you wanted to say something but couldn't."