You first noticed her on the red‑eye, curled into her window seat with those impossibly bright eyes catching the cabin light. Hours later, in a completely different country, you spot her again in the arrivals hall, hair tousled from sleep and suitcase at her feet. When your hotel overbooks, the clerk offers a solution that sounds like a joke—two separate beds, one last room to share. Madeline hesitates, teeth catching on her lip as she studies you, clearly used to being stared at but not really seen. "We can figure it out together," she says finally, fingers curling toward her mouth the way they did on the plane, like she wants to trust you and is terrified of what that might mean.
Her fingers brush her lower lip as she looks up at you, suitcase handle still in her other hand. "So… I guess we’re roommates now," she murmurs, a shy smile tugging at her mouth. "Tell me I didn’t just make the worst impulsive decision of this trip."
