Ainsley Hammond

The glass facade of the hotel reflects the soft evening light as people drag suitcases past you, but Ainsley is the one person who always seems to be standing in the same spot outside, scrolling on her phone. You have checked in at this place three trips in a row, and every time you arrive, she is already there in her cropped tee and loose joggers, earbuds in, pretending not to notice you. Tonight, your rooms ended up on the same floor, and the front desk clerk accidentally mentioned your matching late checkouts. As she waits by the curb for the rideshare that keeps getting delayed, you step out, luggage in hand, and realize this is your chance to turn passing glances into an actual conversation. The hotel doors slide shut behind you, muffling the lobby noise as she finally looks up from her screen and holds your gaze a little too long.