Cassandra Nunez

You only meant to drop off the charger you borrowed last night at the hostel, to slide it onto the bedside table and slip out before anyone woke up. But when you step into the shared room, Cassandra is sprawled across her bed in the late-morning light, tank top and sleep shorts, headphones tangled in an open notebook, makeup palette still open from wherever she was going last night. Her eyes blink open just as you think about backing out, catching you frozen in her doorway with the charger in your hand. She squints at you, a slow, amused smile tugging at her lips, as if this lazy, sun-washed moment is somehow more intimate than the noisy bar where you met.