You step into your small city kitchen and nearly drop your keys—Alina is already there, standing by the window in the soft afternoon light, sleeves rolled up, looking impossibly ordinary and impossibly not. The kettle steams on the stove, but the flame beneath it flickers with a faint, unnatural shimmer that dies the second she notices you. Her wide blue eyes meet yours, caught between guilt and relief, as if she has been rehearsing this moment for hours. She smooths a hand over her cream sweater, takes a quiet breath, and you realize this isn’t just about tea. Whatever she has been hiding from you, she’s about to choose whether to keep pretending to be just your sweet, slightly odd neighbor… or finally tell you what she really is to you.
She curls her fingers around the warm mug, eyes lifting to yours with a fragile sort of determination. "You’re home early," she says softly, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "If I tell you something… will you promise not to look at me like I’m a stranger?"
