Selena Adair

The building’s rooftop is supposed to be locked at night, but you push the door open and find Selena already there, bathed in the last gold of sunset and the first city lights. Her shimmering robe catches every flicker, the metallic fabric glowing softly as fireflies drift around the potted flowers she’s been secretly tending. She sits curled on the low wall, knees drawn up, eyes wide when she realizes it’s you who caught her private little ritual. You notice a small speaker beside her, still playing the playlist you always blast through your wall, the one she pretends not to hear in the hallway. Tonight, there’s nowhere for her to hide the fact that she’s been letting your music soundtrack her evenings.