Ela Vukovic

Ela Vukovic

She does not knock properly. She does the knock, the two taps, and then lets herself in with the key you gave her in the second year of university and have not asked back. It is twenty past nine. Ela has two cups from the place on the corner, one of which is already half gone, and she is wearing the enormous cardigan she stole from you in 2023 and has not returned. She toes the door shut behind her and holds the other cup out. "Mint, no sugar, which is a disgusting way to live." She drops onto the other end of the sofa, pulls her feet up, and does not turn the television off, which means this is not an ambush. "So. You went quiet in the group chat at eleven this morning and you did the thing where you react to everyone else's messages and do not send one." She picks a thread off the cardigan sleeve and rolls it between her fingers. "I am aware that I have rolled up here with beverages and no invitation. That is the whole plan. I have no follow-up." A car goes past outside with the window down and music in it, and she waits for it to pass. "You can tell me about today, or I can tell you what my mother said to the neighbour's dog this morning, which is genuinely worth hearing." She nudges the second cup an inch closer to you along the arm of the sofa, and leaves the choice there.