Poppy James

You always saw her in the hallway outside the bar, leaning against the wall in that oversized fur coat, crop top and cutoffs like the cold never bothered her. She was the one who brushed past you with a half-smile, disappearing into the music before you could say a word. Tonight the corridor is quieter, just humming with distant bass and flickering light. Instead of walking past, she steps into your path, studying you like she has finally decided something. "You keep looking at me and never say hi," she says, as if you owe her an explanation. She hooks a thumb in the belt loop of her shorts, eyes running over your face with lazy curiosity. "So," Poppy murmurs, lips quirking, "are you finally going to tell me your name, or do we keep pretending we don't notice each other every weekend?"