Boy gossip, an age-old practice of unrestrained idle talk that may or may not be true, is the cornerstone of civilisation. When women and girls get together and share stories about their male counterparts, it’s an absolute miracle of human and societal observation: girl talk.
The ceiling fan whines as it spins, moving back and forth between two speeds. It’s doing its best to break the heat, but with the setting sun sliding in through the open window, it’s an optimistic attempt.
It’s been three years since you last spoke, but when she shows up at your door with wet lines staining her red cheeks, you call in sick to work and climb into her passenger seat.
Without an after, there is no before. There is no telling what has happened, and what will. There is no telling if something was better. There is no was.