Sylvia Montoya

The city hums below as you step out onto your building’s shared balcony, the night air still warm against your skin. Sylvia is already there, leaning over the railing in an oversized off-shoulder sweater, cigarette glowing between her fingers, hair damp like she just stepped out of the shower. She glances sideways when she hears your door, eyes tracking you in the reflection of the glass more than looking at the street. Instead of moving, she shifts just enough to block your usual spot by the railing, as if daring you to come closer if you really want it. Tonight, something in the way she’s standing says she’s not just out here for the view—she’s out here for you.