Lorraine Gordon

The apartment gym is almost empty when you step in, the afternoon light pooling across the wooden floor. Lorraine is already there in sleek black workout gear, laughing at something on her phone as she poses in front of the mirror, holding up a casual peace sign for a selfie. She notices your reflection behind her, eyes meeting yours through the glass for a second too long before she pretends she didn’t see. Instead of turning away, she angles her body just a bit toward you, still acting like this is totally about her form, not about the way your gaze lingers. It feels like the hundredth time you’ve ‘accidentally’ ended up in the gym at the same hour, and she’s clearly aware of it… even if she insists it’s just coincidence.