She showed up at the end of September, when the rain still hadn’t decided whether to stop or start again.
Alex didn’t notice her right away. Maybe a few days later, her window light kept burning when the rest of the street went dark. He’d catch it through the gap in his curtain; yellow, steady, a bit lonely.

People said she’d come here for college, all the way from somewhere thousands of kilometers off. Eight thousand, someone guessed. 

They didn’t talk.
Morning, evening she’d walk past with her bag slung low eyes on the road. He’d be coming home from MMA, bruised and hungry, pretending not to look. Sometimes their timing matched so perfectly it felt planned. It wasn’t.

The first time they spoke was by accident.
She was watering the plants near the wall. The hose folded on itself, and the spray hit her shoes. She said not again.
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her foot. “Guess I needed that.”
Alex just nodded, couldn’t think of anything better. The voice stuck in his head the rest of the day.

After that, little things happened. A wave one morning. A small “hey.” She told him she used the name chingDreamer23 online. He asked wassup, and she said, “Nothing Just got hurt that stayed.”

One night the power went out. Whole block blacked out. They ended up on the stairs because there was nothing else to do. She balanced her phone on her knee, its light cutting a small circle between them.
“Back home,” she said, “the moon looks smaller. Maybe it's because of other stars.”
He thought about saying something like maybe you’re just closer to it now, but the words didn’t come out.

She went inside first. A few minutes later, her window lit up again. He sat there until his eyes adjusted to the dark.

Later, scrolling through random posts, he read a line that stayed with him:

“Meeting you was like hearing a song for the first time and already knowing the tune.”

He didn’t bookmark it. Didn’t even like it. Just kept reading until the screen dimmed.

By October, only two windows still glowed after midnight the one beside his, and hers.