Mia Li | Owen !free!

Mia Li pressed her palm against the cold window of the 14th-floor apartment, watching the rain streak down the glass like tiny rivers. Across the courtyard, through the blur of water and city lights, she could see Owen’s silhouette.

“I know,” she said, then flushed. “I mean—I guessed. Your mail sometimes gets delivered to our building by mistake.”

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

He considered this, tilting his head the same way he did when he played guitar. “No,” he said finally. “I think I’ve been watching you too. I just didn’t know it until now.”

Owen squinted. Then, slowly, he raised his own hand back. Mia Li pressed her palm against the cold

At 8:47, Owen stood up and stretched. He walked to his window, as he sometimes did, to look out at the city. And for the first time, Mia didn’t look away when his gaze swept past her building.

He pulled out his phone, typed something, and showed her the screen: Owen Chen, 555-0192. And yes, I’m free. “I mean—I guessed

“I know,” Mia said again, and this time she smiled. “I’ve watched you go there. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”