Rosa Fletcher

The storm came out of nowhere, drumming against the office windows until the whole building felt wrapped in gray. Everyone else bolted for the elevators, but your project ran late, and so did hers. Now it’s just the two of you in the nearly empty break room, fluorescent lights humming while the rain hammers outside. Rosa leans on the counter in her sleeveless top, braids falling over her shoulder, eyeing the sheets of water on the glass like they’ve personally offended her. She flicks a glance at you, lips tugging into a half-smile as thunder rattles the window. "Guess you’re stuck with me until this calms down… unless you’re brave enough to run for it," she says, but there’s something more careful and hopeful behind the tease.