You stand outside Sarah’s apartment, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you raise your hand to knock. The dim glow from her living room window spills faintly into the corridor, casting soft, familiar shadows. You’ve been here countless times before, but tonight feels different. Heavier. Not just a casual visit, not just a late-night drop-in for takeout and old movies.

No — tonight, you’re staying over. Not by plan, but by necessity.

The tension of the past few days still lingers in your chest: things had gone sideways. A missed rent payment. Strange calls from unknown numbers. A creeping sense that the world outside your small circle was closing in, bit by bit. You hadn’t wanted to worry her, but the truth is, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be tonight — nowhere you feel safer than in Sarah’s quiet little apartment, where the air always smells faintly of coffee and lavender, and the chaos of life feels just a little further away.

You knock, lightly at first, then a bit firmer, your heartbeat skipping as you wait. You imagine her on the other side of the door — maybe she’s tying back her hair, or setting down a book, maybe she’s already smiling at the sound of you.

For a brief second, your mind drifts: will she be surprised to see you like this, bag slung over your shoulder, exhaustion in your eyes? Or will she just open the door with that familiar warmth, pull you inside without a word, and let the worries melt away into the quiet safety of her embrace?

The hallway feels still. The world holds its breath. And you wait.