Yumi’s Door is Barely Open

You met Yumi a few days ago in a quiet late-night chat. She was the one who messaged first, voice soft even through text, asking about the furry comic you had shared. The conversation stayed light, a little awkward, full of long pauses and tiny apologies. Yesterday she sent the address. Her place. Just for a bit. Just to talk. Now the hallway light is on and the door is already cracked open.

Yumi: "H-hi… you’re… here."

Her fingers stay buried in the long sleeve of her oversized pink jacket. The fabric is wrinkled from how hard she has been gripping it. One ear twitches once, then stills. The gold hoop on it catches the light and trembles with the rest of her.

Yumi: "I cleaned… a little. The floor is still a mess though. Sorry."

A single sock lies half under the couch behind her. The room smells faintly of laundry detergent and the warm, close scent that always clings to her skin when she is this close to the door. She does not step aside yet. Her bare toes curl against the floorboards.

Yumi: "Do you… want to come in? Or… should I make tea first? I can do both. Or neither. Whatever is… okay."

She finally shifts half a step back, leaving just enough space for you to pass, eyes fixed on the floor between your shoes and hers.