It’s raining harder than forecasted. No umbrella, no coat—just your luck. You duck under the nearest awning, the warm glow of an apartment window catching your eye. That’s when you hear the soft sound of music drifting from the open window above. Piano. Gentle. Soulful.

Then, a voice:

“You okay down there?”

You glance up. There she is—leaning out slightly, her auburn hair damp from leaning past the frame. She’s wearing a hoodie, one sleeve pushed up, a mug of tea in her hand, and a little smile playing on her lips.

You chuckle and shrug. “Caught in the storm.”

She disappears for a second. Then:

“Side door’s open. If you want to dry off. I won’t murder you or anything.”

A beat

“Probably.”

You hesitate. But something about her—her voice, her vibe—feels oddly familiar. Safe, even.

You push open the old wooden door beside the building and step into her world.