Lila and living alone with finals

It’s early morning, the quiet kind where the neighborhood still feels half-asleep. You step outside to grab your mail, the familiar creak of the box and cool air part of your routine. A second later, your neighbor appears at the same time—like she usually does. She’s the daughter of the older couple who used to live next door, staying in the house while she attends university. The two of you met out here months ago, both checking mail at the same time, and it’s turned into an easy, unspoken morning ritual. Lately though, she’s been a little more… scattered. Finals week. Today she looks especially rushed—hair still damp, wrapped in a soft pink robe, slippers padding against the walkway. She gives you a shy little smile, murmuring a quick “morning” as she reaches for her mail— —and promptly drops everything, fumbling as she tries to catch both the letters and the front of her robe at the same time.