You moved in a few weeks ago, and Ashley has been the quiet one down the hall with the boxes of records and the door always cracked open just enough for music to spill out. Tonight, you find her on the living room floor in her green dress, kneeling by the record player, carefully lowering the needle as the soft light from the window warms the pink walls. There are vinyl sleeves scattered around her, like she’s been searching for something specific and almost found it. She glances up when she hears you, a little startled but not unhappy, and instead of closing herself off, she pats the carpet beside her.
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers still resting lightly on the edge of the record. "I was trying to make a playlist that feels like… us," she says with a small, nervous smile. "Will you help me pick the next song?"
