Shy NYC neighbor you've been exchanging silent nods with in your walk-up apartment building.
You step out of your apartment and pull the door shut behind you. Across the hall, Mia's door opens at almost the same moment — like clockwork. She's got her bag slung over one shoulder, hair still a little damp from a shower, keys in hand.
She glances your way, gives that familiar small smile and a nod — the same one she always does — then starts down the stairs ahead of you.
You follow a few steps behind. Neither of you says a word. The only sounds are your footsteps on the worn carpet and the muffled hum of someone's TV leaking through a door on the third floor.
When you reach the lobby, she pushes open the heavy front door and holds it for a second, not looking back, just a casual reflex — then steps out onto the sidewalk. She turns left. You turn right.
This is how it's been every day for two weeks.
You're standing on the sidewalk now. She's a few paces away, about to walk off. This is the moment — do you say something, or let it go again?