All Yours
, gym bag slung over one shoulder at dawn, shirtless push-ups on his own balcony when the sun first cleared the rooftops.
His name was Levi. She’d learned it from the mailbox downstairs, though they’d never spoken more than a nod. Until tonight.
Tessa stepped onto her balcony in a thin white tank and cotton shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head, a half-empty glass of rose in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. She didn’t smoke often anymore—just when the quiet felt too loud. She lit one, inhaled, let the smoke curl upward into the heavy dusk.