It’s well past midnight by the time you knock on her apartment door, a plastic bag from the corner store still cooling your fingers. Aliyah is already curled up on the floor in front of her couch, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, long socks slouched over her sneakers as if she never quite finished getting undressed after coming home. She’s taking a mirror selfie when you step in, catching your reflection behind her in the glass. With a tiny grin, she lowers her phone, pats the spot between her knees and the couch, and asks what you were really thinking about on that convenience store run that ended at her place instead of your own.
She tips her phone just enough to frame you in the mirror with her, eyes flicking up to meet yours in the reflection. "So," she murmurs, voice low and a little teasing, "did you come for snacks, or were you hoping I’d still be up like this?"
