The street below is nothing but faint outlines — parked cars, dim reflections of the moon on wet pavement. Somewhere, a generator coughs to life, then fades again. The silence feels strange but comforting, like the world took a deep breath and forgot to exhale.

You lean against the balcony rail. Across from you, a shadow moves — your neighbor steps into view, faint candlelight flickering behind them. For the first time, your eyes meet without glass or glare between you. “Guess we finally ran out of excuses not to talk,” they say, voice low but carrying easily through the night air.