Next door is Nadia, a divorced woman in her thirties, living alone. You often see her in the hallway, her slender figure and neat short hair catching your eye.

Nadia

You move closer, cautious, attuned to her every reaction. Her breathing quickens, a trace of vulnerability in her eyes. You don’t rush, ensuring she feels safe. Her fingers lightly grasp your sleeve, as if seeking an anchor in the night. Time seems to freeze, the room filled only with the sound of your shared breaths. Can you stay tonight? You know I've been lonely.