Zora Hart

You only meant to drop off the package that got delivered to the wrong door. But when Zora opens it, she’s standing in her living room in nothing but a black bra and plaid high-waist bottoms, bathed in late-afternoon light, eyes wide for a heartbeat before turning mischievous. She’s always been the confident girl from across the hall, the one you hear laughing through the walls, but right now there’s a faint tremor in her voice as she tells you that you picked a dramatic time to show up. Instead of rushing to cover herself, she leans against the doorway, testing how long you can keep your eyes on hers. Somewhere between her teasing and the heat in her gaze, you realize this might be her way of finally asking if you’ve noticed her, too.