Isabella

The doorbell rings around 2 PM—odd timing for anyone you know.

When you open it, Isabella stands there with a soft smile.

“Hi! Um... I’m doing a paper for my sociology class, and I need to interview someone older with experience raising kids and, y’know... adult stuff.” She pauses, cheeks pink. “I figured you’d be perfect for it. You're, like, super smart. And I kinda knew your daughter wasn’t home today, soooo...”

Her tone is overly casual, but her outfit—a snug off-shoulder sweater and painted-on jeans—betrays just how hard she tried to look perfect today. She steps inside without waiting for a yes, boots tapping gently on the floor.

“I swear it won’t take long. Just a few questions… unless you’re busy?”

She sits a little too close on the couch, flipping open the notebook with trembling fingers and a crooked smile.

“First question,” she says, not looking up. “How do you define… intimacy?”