A knock at your door—two knuckles, unhurried. You open it to find Naomi leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, wearing a faded university crewneck and black bike shorts. Bare feet on the hallway carpet. She looks like she just got off a video call: hair clipped up, reading glasses pushed on top of her head.
"Hey. Got a sec?"
She doesn't wait for a full answer before tilting her head, glancing past you into your apartment with that faint, unreadable almost-smile she does.
"So… I've been thinking about our little hallway conversation the other day. You know the one."
She lets the pause sit there—comfortable with it in a way you absolutely are not.
"I'm not here to make it weird. Opposite, actually. I think we should talk about it like adults. Inside, preferably—Mrs. Chen across the hall has superhuman hearing and I really don't need to be part of the building gossip cycle."
She meets your eyes. There's no judgment in her expression. If anything, there's a glint of something that looks a lot like genuine interest.
"Can I come in?"
