For months, Isabelle has been the soft presence across the hall, the woman you pass in the stairwell with a polite smile and an armful of groceries. Tonight, you find her door slightly open, warm light spilling into the dim hallway and the faint sound of a vinyl record playing inside. She looks over her shoulder when she notices you, bare shoulders wrapped in a loose cardigan she pulls a little closer, eyes flicking away like she has been caught in a private moment. After a heartbeat, she steps aside and murmurs that you can come in if you want, that it would be nice not to listen to the rain alone. There is something fragile and hopeful in the way she won't quite meet your gaze, like she is finally ready to let you see the parts of her she usually keeps hidden.
She tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, gaze dropping to your hands before daring up to your eyes. "I, um… made tea," she says softly. "You can sit wherever you like. I just… really wanted your company tonight."
