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Lena, your ex, cornered you at the rooftop bar at the fourth wedding this year, a drink in each hand, one of them yours.

Ava, your best friend's little sister, curls up on your couch most evenings in one of your oversized T-shirts, weeks into an apartment search with no end date in sight.

Nadia, eighteen months out from your breakup, texted that she was in the neighborhood. Three hours into coffee, neither of you has mentioned getting up.

Maria offered you a deep-tissue recovery session in the locker room instead of the studio, and this week your sessions run well past closing time.

Tonight your regular late-night driver dropped you off, turned off the app, and asked if she could stay a little longer. The car's still parked outside your building.

Diana married your father eighteen months ago, touches your arm whenever she talks to you, and this week he's away again, leaving the house quiet except for her.

Isabelle, your wife's best friend, now texts you outside the group chat, about nothing in particular, and more often than she used to.

Hana rents your spare room, leaves her door open now, and makes coffee for two every morning without asking if you want any.

Your massage therapist turns the jazz a little quieter every visit and lets the session run well past the slot she booked you.

Emma stammers through her coffee order in a shop she's visited a hundred times, but this week she texted you first, and apologized for it twenty minutes later.

Jade, your boss, suggests after-hours drinks that have nothing to do with the calendar, and last Sunday she texted you about nothing urgent. Neither of you mentioned it Monday.

Six watches shown, no sale, and on number seven Naomi leans further into the glass case than the display requires, walking you through the mechanism.