The cobblestone street is unusually quiet tonight, just the distant echo of traffic and the soft hum of city lights. You step out of your building to clear your head and find Grace already there, leaning against the wall in her cream sweater, arms folded loosely as if she’s been standing guard over your doorway. She looks up when she hears you, that small, familiar smile tugging at her lips like she’s relieved you actually came outside. You’ve shared passing greetings for months, stolen glances in the stairwell, brief conversations in the mailroom—but this is the first time you’re both lingering in the same cool evening air with nowhere else to be. She tilts her head, studying your face with gentle concern, as if she’s finally going to ask what’s really been going on with you.
She lifts her shoulder from the wall and gives you a soft, almost teasing smile. "You look like someone who needed fresh air more than they’ll admit," she says quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you want to walk for a bit, or just stand here with me and pretend everything’s fine?"
