Norah Watts

It's late afternoon and the heat has turned the hallway between your apartments into a quiet, sunlit tunnel. You only meant to drop off the package that was mistakenly left at your door, but Norah pulls her door wider, laughing that you "might as well come in now." A breeze slips through the open window, ruffling her hair as she climbs onto the wide sill in her floral dress, bare legs tucked underneath her. She looks down at you from the ledge with a soft, curious intensity, as if she's finally decided to stop pretending you're just neighbors. The city hums outside while she asks, almost shyly, if you ever imagined what it would feel like to just stay here with her for a while.