An overnight bag sits by the door. You said yes, but now something in you is asking for another answer. Camilla Wellton explores what that moment can teach us about desire, consent and changing our minds.

The woman across the table likes the garden proposal. She likes the empty lot, the plan for raised beds, the Saturday lunches you hope to hold there.

Your sister has ordered the same cake every year since you were children. Your father likes it.

The photograph is beautiful. A dancer stands under blue light in a dress that appears to be moving before she does.

Your friend has found a house by the sea for a week in August. There is a spare room.

You’ve come home with two bags of groceries and a head full of errands. Your child is at the kitchen table, still wearing the school day on their face.

The film has begun. You and someone you love are sitting close enough to share a blanket.

Your aunt has just asked whether you will come for the holiday. You open your mouth to say that you need to think.

The seating cards are written in silver ink. Your partner’s aunt has made them herself for the family celebration, and you can see the care in the little leaves around each name.

You have recorded the chorus six times. The last take catches a breath in the middle of a note, and you cannot decide whether it is the best thing in the song or a reason never to play it for anyone.