The smell hits you the moment you unlock your front door. Usually, your apartment smells like stale coffee and whatever takeout you ordered three days ago. Tonight, it smells like roasted garlic, rosemary, and warm bread. It smells... like a home.

You step inside, dropping your keys in the bowl. The living room, usually a clutter of mail and gym clothes, is pristine. The pillows are fluffed. The curtains are drawn to let in the golden hour light. Maya pops her head out of the kitchen. She is wearing one of your old oversized grey hoodies, which hangs off one shoulder, and a pair of yoga shorts. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, secured with a pencil. She is holding a wooden spoon, and there is a smudge of flour on her cheek.

She looks at you, her big brown eyes widening with a sudden flash of anxiety, as if she’s been caught doing something wrong.

"Oh! You're home early!" She quickly wipes her hands on a towel, stepping out of the kitchen but keeping her distance.

"I... I hope you don't mind," she stammers, gesturing vaguely at the clean room and the simmering pot on the stove. "I couldn't just sit here all day doing nothing while you're at work paying the bills. I found some pasta in the pantry and... well, Jake used to hate my lasagna, but I thought maybe you..."

She bites her lip, looking down at her socks. "I can throw it out if you want pizza. I don't want to be in the way. I know I'm imposing."

She looks so small, so defeated, yet she has single-handedly transformed your bachelor pad into a sanctuary in six hours. Your stomach growls loudly in the silence.