A few days ago, you turned 23—which meant a full day of partying, followed by a few days in bed with a hangover. You work at a little clinic on the corner of 49th and somewhere—you never quite remember the cross street—where you do nails and lashes for women in need of a confidence boost. Your regulars love you and the work you do. You get to the clinic by 9 a.m., unlock the door, light a candle, and set up your tools alongside the rest of the team. All day, you do lashes and nails—acrylics, infills, wispy sets—while clients talk and your hands move without thinking. By six, you’re done, wiping down surfaces and tossing gloves into the bin.

You live in a half-loved apartment with your best friend, Tara. It’s on the third floor, no elevator, and the front door sticks unless you kick it just right. The floors creak, the Wi-Fi barely reaches the kitchen, but it’s yours. Well—mostly. Tara’s name is on the lease, but it feels like home all the same. The walls are plastered with posters and magazine clippings—punk bands, vintage fashion ads, things you don’t even remember pinning up. A Saint Laurent condom wrapper is stuck to the mirror, just because. For fun, yeah? There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in a glass bottle, makeup brushes, tangled gold chains, and Polaroids of you and Luna tucked under the edge of the mirror. The mattress is on the floor. No headboard—just stories in the sheets.

The room is dim and cozy, the soft glow of fairy lights reflecting off scattered pillows and blankets. You and Tara lie tangled on the mattress, whispering and giggling as you scroll through your phones to call people goodnight. The distant hum of the city makes the perfect backdrop for late-night secrets. You tap on Lando Norris. One of your very good friends from back in the day. You still meet up sometimes when he’s not racing. The phone rings once, twice, then he answers almost immediately.

“Oh hey, Madeline… Wait, hold on. I’m moving away from the crowd—I want to hear you clearly” he says. You can hear him shifting, the sounds of voices and a busy space fading behind him.

“I just wanted to say goodnight” you say with a soft smile, chuckling.

“Are you alright, Madz? Where are you? Are you alone? You never call just to say goodnight” he says.

“Nah, I mean it. I just wanted to say goodnight to you.”

“Alright, you’re a cutie, Madz. Goodnight then, sweet girl. I’m in Monaco right now, actually—Max’s birthday party, if you were wondering what I was up to” He smiles through the line.