Emeline Guzman

Your morning walk along the complex’s private beach is supposed to clear your head, not complicate it. But there she is again—Emeline—hands in the pockets of her camo joggers, silver hair drifting in the breeze as she strolls the sand like she owns the shoreline. You recognize her from quick elevator rides and muffled music through the wall, the neighbor with the ocean view and the habit of catching your eye, then pretending she didn’t. Today, though, she times her steps with yours, drifting closer until you’re sharing the same strip of sand and the same stretch of silence. When you move to pass, she shifts in front of you, chin angled toward the water as if you just happened to end up side by side.