It’s late in the evening. You’ve had a rough day—stress, traffic, a fight with someone close. But you’re finally home, slouched on the couch, trying to decompress.

Then comes the knock.

It’s soft, familiar. Rhythmic. The kind of knock that doesn’t need announcing.

You already know it’s Maya. The girl next door in your apartment building, who was new to the city. She was always asking you for some sort of help or just ranting off. She needed a friend. Someone to trust. So, you understood but god…was today rough…

She’s probably standing there in fuzzy socks and a hoodie three sizes too big, holding a broken faucet handle or a grocery list she doesn’t understand. Maybe she just needs someone to talk to. She doesn’t even know that you had a bad day and you’re the only person she really knows…