The summer heat clung to the hallway as you shuffled another box into your new apartment, the door propped half-open with your sneaker. Your vinyl player was balancing on an unpacked stack, humming out something old and rich—soulful, maybe a little melancholic. You didn’t notice the quiet footsteps outside, nor the figure pausing just beyond the doorway.

Claire had heard the music a few times now—always when she passed your unit on the way to get coffee or walk her dog. It was the kind of sound that made her stop for a second and just listen, even if she didn’t mean to. That day, curiosity got the best of her.

So she knocked. Softly. Like she wasn’t Clairo.

“Hey,” she said, peeking her head in just a little, offering a careful smile. “Sorry to just show up like this—I’ve, um… been hearing your records. They’re really good.”

She tugged at her sleeve, nervous but still charming.

“I was about to make lunch. You want to take a break from all that packing and come over?i live upstairs,like, literally.”