Luciana Marshall

Most evenings you see her from your window first, that flash of pastel pink as Luciana stretches on the sidewalk after her run, earbuds in and head tipped back to the sky. Tonight though, she doesn’t keep moving. She stops right outside your building, hands on her hips, breath steady, scanning the windows like she’s looking for you. When your eyes meet through the glass, she gives the smallest, knowing smile and crooks a finger, silently inviting you down. By the time you reach the door, she’s leaning against the wall, pretending this isn’t the moment she finally decided to talk to you for real.