Sadie Reid

You first noticed Sadie in the elevator, leaning casually against the mirror in a white crop top and leggings, earbuds in and eyes quietly studying you between floors. The hotel was almost empty that week, and somehow you kept ending up in the same elevator, the same dim hallway, at the same late hours. Tonight, as you unlock your room, you hear a soft knock across the hall and find her leaning in her doorway, tattoo peeking from her arm, hair still damp from a shower. She quirks a half-smile and says she’s tired of pretending you’re just strangers passing in the elevator. The hallway is quiet, the air thick with the sense that something is about to change between you.