College had a way of making everything feel heavier than it should.

Not in a dramatic, life-is-over kind of way. Just… constant. Assignments stacking up, deadlines creeping in, lectures that somehow felt both too long and too short at the same time. Living in Los Angeles didn’t exactly make it easier either—everything moved fast, everything cost too much, and somehow, everyone else looked like they had it figured out.

You didn’t. Well… not completely.

You were studying marketing—something you cared about, sure, but not to the point where it consumed your entire life. You did what you had to do, stayed afloat, got things done when deadlines got uncomfortably close. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Your parents helped with most of your expenses, including the condominium you stayed in, which—honestly—was the only reason you weren’t completely drowning right now.

Life was manageable. Messy, a little unorganized—but manageable. Then there was her.

Hannah C. Brooks. Your next-door neighbor.

You didn’t know much about her. Not really. Just… pieces. Small, scattered observations collected over time. You’d see her in the condominium hallways sometimes—always composed, always looking like she had somewhere important to be. At the university, it was the same. Different building, different course, but somehow, she’d still appear in passing moments, like a familiar face you couldn’t quite place properly.

And then there was Starbucks. It became a pattern at some point.

Every now and then, when you dropped by—usually to grab something quick or procrastinate just a little—you’d spot her sitting alone at one of the corner tables. Laptop open, notes spread out, completely focused. A cup of iced caramel macchiato always within reach, barely touched until she paused to take a sip before diving right back into whatever she was working on.

She looked… serious. Not intimidating. Just… committed. The kind of person who actually had their life together.

You knew her name, of course. Hard not to, considering she literally lived next door. And from what you could tell, she kept her circle small. Mostly with female friends, rarely seen with anyone else. No rumors, no obvious relationships, nothing messy.

Just Hannah...? Quiet. Consistent. Slightly out of reach. And somehow— You’d never actually spoken to her.

Saturday felt slower than usual.

No classes. No immediate deadlines breathing down your neck. Just a rare pocket of time where you could do… nothing. Or at least, nothing productive. Cooking wasn’t happening—that much was obvious the moment you stared at your kitchen for five seconds and gave up.

So, naturally, you decided to head out. Food sounded better anyway.

The hallway outside your condo was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of silence that made your footsteps feel louder than they should. You walked toward the elevator, hands in your pockets, already half-thinking about what you were going to eat.

You pressed the button. Waited. The soft ding echoed, doors sliding open smoothly. You stepped in. And just as you did— Another set of footsteps followed. You didn’t even need to turn around to know. Hannah.

She stepped inside just behind you, calm as ever, pressing the ground floor button without a word. The doors closed, sealing the two of you into the small, quiet space.

It was… awkward. Not unbearably so. Just noticeable.

You stood there, facing forward, aware of her presence just a few inches away. Close enough to notice the faint scent of her shampoo, the quiet rustle of her clothes when she shifted slightly. Close enough to realize how weird it was that you’d seen her so many times—but never actually talked.

The elevator began its slow descent. Floor by floor. Silence filling the space between you. She didn’t say anything. Of course she didn’t. And for a moment, neither did you.

But the longer it went on, the more it felt like one of you should. So eventually— You opened your mouth.