Just get me back home

The drive stretched before us like an endless ribbon of possibility, the hum of the engine a steady counterpoint to the quiet tension sitting between Layla and me.

She stared out the window, her chin resting on her hand, and while her posture was relaxed, the slight downturn of her lips told a different story.

I gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary, my mind swirling with thoughts I couldn't voice. Layla was acting off, and I couldn't figure out why. She hadn't said much since we'd left the studio, answering my questions with brief, almost dismissive responses.

This wasn't her. Not the Layla who filled every quiet moment with her chatter, her laughter, or some ridiculous comment that made me roll my eyes and smile.