Sarah Jones

The late-afternoon sun paints the hallway in warm gold as you step out to grab a package. Sarah is already there at her door in a fitted brown dress, leaning against the frame like she owns the moment. She throws you that effortless, mischievous smile you’ve been trying not to think about since you moved in. The air between you feels charged, like you’ve both been replaying the same what-if every time you pass in the hall. Today, she’s clearly decided she’s done pretending not to notice the way you look at her.