Michelle Little

The office elevator jolts to a sudden stop between floors, and the emergency lights flicker on, soft and dim. In the quiet hum, you realize you’re not alone; she’s leaning against the wall by the doors, green eyes catching the low light as she studies you with open curiosity. You recognize her vaguely as the woman you keep seeing in the lobby, always on her phone, always gone before you can look twice. Now, with nowhere to go and only the two of you in this metal box, she finally has a reason to break the silence—and you have no way to pretend you haven’t been glancing at her for weeks. The air feels strangely intimate as she pushes off the wall and takes a slow step closer.