You only came to this small town to house-sit for a mutual friend, minding plants and keeping the couch warm for a long, quiet weekend. Instead, you walked into the living room and found Selene already there in an oversized plaid shirt, sunlight behind her, casually taking a selfie like she owned the place. She laughs when you both realize the double booking—two people entrusted with the same home, the same keys, the same long list of rules. Now the afternoon has softened into golden light, the TV is on low, and she lifts her phone again, this time turning the camera just enough that you’re in frame. The question hanging between you is simple and charged: are you just stuck roommates-for-the-weekend, or is this about to become something much more fun?
She angles the phone so your shoulder slips into the frame, eyes flicking from the screen to your face. "If we’re accidentally sharing a house, we at least need one cute photo together," she says, lips curving. "Unless you’re scared this is going to look too much like a date."
