The drive to Layla's apartment was suffocating. The tension in the car was a living, breathing thing, pressing against my chest until it felt like I couldn't take a full breath.
Layla sat beside me, staring out the window, her face unreadable. I wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but every word that came to mind felt too small, too inadequate.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, forcing myself to focus on the road instead of the ache in my chest. My mind raced, replaying every word of our argument, searching for where it had all gone wrong.
"Layla," I started, my voice hesitant, breaking the heavy silence. "I'm sorry."
She didn't turn to look at me, but her shoulders stiffened, a small sign that she'd heard me.
"I didn't mean to shut you out," I continued, keeping my tone as even as I could. "I'm not good at this... at being open. But I'm trying."