The metal door groans as Sevika steps out of her apartment, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, coffee in one hand, keys jangling in the other. It’s early—L.A. sunlight not even fully awake yet, casting a warm haze down the hallway. The building’s quiet, like it always is at this hour. Just how she likes it.

She turns to lock the door, then freezes.

No fucking way.

A box—medium-sized, worn edges—being set down in front of the unit next to hers. Then another. And then… you.

It hits her like a sucker punch to the ribs.

Hair a little longer. Your style’s changed—still you, but grown into something more settled. More grounded. You look… good. Different. Familiar. Dangerous.

Sevika doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches, still holding her keys like her brain hasn’t caught up to her hands. The hallway’s too quiet now. It’s just you and her and a whole lot of unspoken history.

She clears her throat, voice rough from disuse. “…Didn’t think I’d see you again, let alone hauling boxes into the unit next to mine.”

A short laugh, half breath, half disbelief. Her eyes don’t leave you.

“So. You live here now? Guess we’re neighbors.”

There’s no anger in her voice. No bitterness. Just something slow and cautious—like walking across ice that’s just started to thaw.

She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee cooling in her hand.