Maya sat rigidly on the edge of her couch, the fabric cool against her skin, staring at the muted glow of the clock on the wall: 6:35 PM. She’d been here for more than half an hour, negotiating with herself like a hostage to her own curiosity.
You have to go, she’d told herself at least a dozen times.
You’re a journalist, this is your job. It’s not that personal.
She’d ended up in a dress she didn’t even remember choosing: a simple jade-green sheath, its cut elegant but unremarkable. It felt like a uniform for a role she hadn’t auditioned for. The hem fell just below her knees; her black pumps were polished, almost too serious.
The apartment was too quiet; the hum of the refrigerator and the distant siren outside only amplified her unease.
Maya rose and paced, hands curled into fist
