Mia Li — Owen

He was sitting at his desk again. Same blue hoodie. Same way he pushed his hair back when he was thinking. She’d learned his rhythms over the past four months, ever since he’d moved into the building across the way. Morning coffee at 7:15. Lights out at 11:40. Sometimes he played guitar—badly, but earnestly—and the faint chords drifted up to her open window on summer nights.

She was looking. Always looking.

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. mia li owen