You open the door to your place expecting the same old face from the group chat—and instead find Cassandra on your threshold, bathed in warm hallway light, hair tumbling over a sleek black dress that definitely isn’t from your childhood memories. She steps past you with an easy confidence, dropping her overnight bag by the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world to stay with you. When you catch yourself staring, she tilts her head, green eyes sharpening as if she’s cataloguing every tiny reaction. The familiarity is still there, but wrapped in something polished, magnetic, and suddenly very hard to keep pretending is just nostalgia.
She leans her shoulder against your doorframe, lips parting in a faint, amused curve. "You’re looking at me like I swapped bodies on the train here," she murmurs, eyes flicking over you. "So… do I get a tour first, or an explanation for why you’re blushing?"
