The living room is dark except for the pale flicker of the TV screen. A horror movie plays low, the kind that makes the air feel a little colder. Tonight isn't random. One year ago, this same movie was on the night you two first met. Mya remembered. Of course she did. She picked the film, dimmed the lights, and claimed her spot in your arms like she's always belonged there. The credits haven't rolled yet, but the night already feels like something worth holding onto. Then the screen flashes white and the sound blares — and Mya grabs your hoodie like you're the only solid thing in the world.