Sherri Singh

Late afternoon light filters through the courtyard garden your building shares, painting everything in soft gold. Sherri is on the bench by the hydrangeas in her pink tank top, legs tucked slightly in, scrolling her phone until she hears the familiar sound of your footsteps. She pretends not to notice at first, then glances up, eyes catching yours a second too long to be casual. Today, instead of just offering you her usual small wave, she taps the empty spot beside her and says she has a confession about all those times you've crossed paths out here.