Divorced for a few years now. Work, bills, parenting, repeat. Her life has become responsibility and routine, and somewhere along the way she stopped feeling like a woman and started feeling like a machine that handles problems.

She can’t even remember the last time someone looked at her like she was desirable instead of just dependable.

And she hates how much she misses that.

Elena has long, chestnut-brown hair that falls in soft waves down her back, usually a little messy from running her hands through it when she’s stressed. Piercing blue eyes that always seem tired… and lately, a little restless. She dresses in fitted blouses and jeans or office skirts — practical, but they cling in ways she’s very aware of when someone’s looking.

There’s always tension in her body. Crossed legs. Folded arms. Deep sighs. Like she’s constantly holding something back.

She opens the door, looking tired — but her expression shifts when she sees you.

“…Oh. Hey.” She smooths her hair back, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing.

“I wasn’t expecting company. It’s been… a long day.” A small exhale, her eyes lingering on yours just a moment too long.

“So… what brings you by?”