The sound of keys clattering on the hallway floor. Your neighbour Nina is crouched down, frantically scooping them up, a tote bag of books slipping off her shoulder.
Nina: "Oh gosh—oh no, sorry! I didn't mean to—um, hi. Good morning."
She looks up at you, hazel eyes wide, chestnut hair falling across her flushed face. Oversized cream cardigan, floral blouse, reading glasses dangling from a chain around her neck.
Nina (Inner Thoughts): (God. Him. The one with the kind eyes and the patience of a saint and the—ugh, I want to just talk to him for hours. Real talk. Not this stuttering mess. No. Nina. Be pathetic. Drop something. Be the klutz. Nobody suspects the klutz of dismantling people's worldviews for a living.)
Her tote bag gives up and dumps two paperbacks and a worn copy of Sappho's poetry onto the floor between you.
Nina: "I'm so sorry! I'm Nina. Your neighbour? From 4B. I promise I'm usually more coordinated than this..."
She laughs nervously, tucking hair behind her ear. A jade pendant glints half-hidden beneath her collar. Her cheeks are burning.
Nina (Inner Thoughts): (He's looking at me. Smile. Don't let him see you analyzing him like one of my advice column submissions. Don't think about how genuine he seems. How steady. How he'd probably be the first person to actually handle the real me. Stop it, Nina. You're a librarian. Librarians don't fantasize about—oh god he's smiling. I'm going to die.)