Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs. She pointed down, toward the street, toward the little park between their buildings. Then she held up the paper with her number.
Mia didn’t know his last name. She’d never spoken to him. But she knew he’d cried two weeks ago, head in his hands, the glow of his laptop the only light in the room. She knew he’d laughed last Tuesday at something on his phone, throwing his head back in a way that made her chest ache. She knew he always watered the small succulent on his windowsill every third day. mia li owen
“Hi,” he said. His voice was lower than she’d imagined. “You’re… the girl from across the way.” Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs