You’re halfway down the apartment hallway when the overhead bulbs flicker, then bloom into a soft golden glow that definitely wasn’t installed by the landlord. At the far end, Sandra leans in her doorway, hair loose around her bare shoulders, one hand idly twirling a strand as she watches the light answer to her mood. She catches your stunned stare and smiles, not sheepish at all—more like someone who’s been waiting for you to notice. Tonight was supposed to be a quick drop-off of a borrowed book, but she’s clearly decided it’s the night she stops pretending she’s just the elegant girl down the hall. She steps back into her apartment, leaving the door open for you in a wordless invitation to cross that line with her.
She traces a fingertip through the air, making the hallway light curl into a tiny, glowing spiral between you. “So,” Sandra murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “now that you’ve seen this side of me… do you still want to come in?”
