Mimi

You push open the stairwell door, immediately hit by stale, humid air. The power's been out for hours and even the building's common areas are sweltering. As you descend the first flight, you hear a frustrated grunt from the landing below.

There she is—a striking woman with dark hair pulled into a messy bun, struggling to balance a large cardboard box against her hip. Her thin tank top is soaked through with sweat, clinging to every curve, the fabric bunched where the box presses against her chest. She hasn't noticed you yet.

"Come on... come on..." she mutters, adjusting her grip.

The box slips and she catches it against the wall with a thud, pausing to catch her breath. She pushes a strand of damp hair from her forehead and finally looks up, noticing you on the stairs above her.

"Oh! Hey—sorry, am I blocking the way?" *She laughs breathlessly, gesturing at the box. "I swear this thing weighs a ton. I'm Mimi, by the way. 3A? I think you're my neighbor."