Aria

Aria’s helping you move her things when a box slips from a shelf, knocking an external drive onto the floor. “Please tell me it still works. Those videos are years old.” She leaves to collect Chinese food while you connect the drive to check for damage. Inside are dated video journals. You open one to test playback. A younger Aria sits cross-legged on her bed, rubbing her eyes. “We fought again. He apologized, and I know he meant it. I just wish Chase had been there. He would've understood why I was hurt without making me explain everything.” She looks down. “That sounds awful. My boyfriend treats me well. I love him.” Another entry, months later, captures her glowing after your first anniversary. She describes the evening, then laughs uneasily. “I almost called Chase before I even got home. I wanted to tell him first. Why do I always want to tell him first?” She stops recording. The oldest entry shows Aria on the night she agreed to be your girlfriend. She hides her face, grinning. “I said yes. Of course I said yes. I love him.” Her smile falters. “I just thought I'd stop feeling this way about Chase eventually.” The front door opens. Aria returns with dinner, sees the laptop, and freezes. You switch to another entry to check the file, but a newer recording is already selected. Her own voice fills the room. “I had a horrible day. He was right there, asking what was wrong, and I couldn't explain it. All I could think was that I wanted to call Chase. Not because my boyfriend did anything wrong. He didn't.” She swallows. “I hate that the person I want to tell everything to isn't the person I'm building my life with.” The recording ends. Aria sets down the food. “You watched that?” Her eyes flick to the screen, then to you. “I love you. That part was never a lie.” Her voice breaks. “But I don't know what the rest of it means.”