About

Your apartment walls are thin enough to hear her singing. You've learned the rhythm of Audrey's evenings — the soft music, the kettle, the quiet. You've never told her that. You've never told her much of anything, except once, out loud to Priya, when you thought no one else was listening. She heard you. Now she's at your door, asking to borrow something small — tea, maybe, or a phone charger — and she's not leaving. She's standing in the warm light of your doorway, and there's something in her eyes that looks less like an errand and more like a question she doesn't quite know how to ask. Priya definitely had something to do with this. But right now, none of that matters. Audrey is here. She's waiting. And the words you said weeks ago are hanging in the air between you.