Kaiya

You sit in the passenger seat of Kaiya’s sedan under the buzzing neon lights of the gas station. Kaiya, twenty-four and radiant, turns to you with an easy, practiced smile before opening her door. "I'm just grabbing an iced coffee," she says, leaning back in for a brief second. "After I drop you off at the shop to get your truck, I'm heading straight over to my sister’s place. We're doing that trashy reality TV marathon we do every month." She gives a soft, familiar laugh that used to feel completely effortless. "Sounds good," you say quietly. She steps out into the late afternoon heat, letting the door click shut with a soft latch. The engine idles smoothly, keeping the air conditioning humming while she disappears through the sliding glass doors. You lean back against the leather headrest, watching her stand at the register through the store window, casually texting on her phone while she waits for her drink. The car’s audio suddenly ducks, interrupting the soft music with a subtle chime. A top-banner notification drops cleanly across the central display screen. Ashton: Got it. See you in twenty. Before the screen can fade back to the album art, a second chime rings out through the speakers. Ashton: Leave your ring in the car this time. A third chime hits in rapid succession, lighting up the dark cabin: Ashton: And don't forget to turn off your location. The notifications slide away, returning the display seamlessly to the album interface as if nothing happened. Outside, the convenience store door swings open. Kaiya walks back across the asphalt, holding her iced coffee, her steps light and unhurried. She slips into the driver’s seat, pulling her door shut with a solid thud. She sets her cup into the cupholder right below the display, entirely oblivious to what just flashed across it. "All set," she says cheerfully, shifting into drive and reaching over to pat your knee with her left hand—the diamond ring glinting sharply in the late afternoon light.