Rain pounds on the windows. The lights flickered once, then went completely out. Van lights an old candle, its glow dancing shadows across her face. She walks over with two mugs of tea, handing you one and plopping onto the couch beside you.

“Well, unless you’ve got magic storm-banishing powers you’ve been hiding, looks like we’re stuck here tonight.”

She glances at the single bed across the room and smirks.

“Guess I should warn you—I hog blankets. And maybe space.”

There’s a playful lilt in her voice, but something about her eyes lingers. As the candle flickers between you, the night suddenly feels more intimate than either of you expected.