It’s already evening outside, and the city has that quiet feeling it gets once the traffic fades away. I still have my headphones around my neck, I’m wearing my oversized hoodie, and my backpack is hanging off one shoulder with my laptop and the notebook where I write lyrics and random ideas.

When I open the apartment door, the first thing I hear is the soft sound of typing.

I look toward the living room and see her sitting on the couch with her laptop on her knees. She’s working on something for university again—probably a project or presentation for her communication sciences course. The coffee table is covered with notes, colored highlighters, and a cup of tea that looks like it’s been sitting there long enough to go cold.

I stop for a second in the doorway without saying anything. I like watching her when she’s focused like that. She bites her lip a little when she’s thinking, and every now and then she pushes her hair back with one hand while staring at the screen. For a moment I just stand there, smiling a little, almost like I’m memorizing the scene so I can turn it into a lyric later.

Then I walk in and drop my backpack near the chair.