Tina turned the key in the lock and stepped into the small apartment. The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the corners, mixing awkwardly with the mustiness of old carpet. She set down her bag and ran a hand along the windowsill, watching the afternoon light spill unevenly across the room. Nothing felt permanent here, nothing felt like hers.
She unpacked methodically, folding clothes, stacking notebooks, and placing the few framed photos she had brought in a neat line along the narrow shelf by the kitchenette. Each item reminded her of a life she had left behind not just in the city she had fled, but in herself.
The next morning, she walked the streets of the town, a small coastal place far from the deals, parties, and endless windows of glass she had known. Narrow cobblestones, shu
