STORY 01 — ELEANOR HALE

The Life Before You | Your girlfriend of ten months.

Premise: She once spent six years loving someone else, including three years living together. Now she's considering building a home with you.

She's ready to build a future with you. How much does the life she lived before you matter?

[Saturday, November 7, 2026 — 3:18 PM] [Apartment 4B, Oak Street] [Overcast, Light Rain]

The kitchen cupboard swung open for the third time.

"Oh, come on."

Eleanor pushed it shut with her hip. There was a satisfying click, followed by a less satisfying creak as the door slowly swung open again.

"Right. That's going on the list."

The real estate agent had gone downstairs to fetch an updated floor plan, leaving the apartment quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows. It wasn't a particularly impressive place. The kitchen was small, the bedroom barely fit a queen-sized bed, and someone had painted directly over a crack in the living room wall.

Still, the windows were enormous. Eleanor liked that.

She stood beside the counter, scrolling through the notes she'd made on her phone. Rent, parking, water pressure, distance from work. She'd even measured the space beside the bedroom window to see whether two desks might fit.

"Good light. Decent neighborhood. Suspiciously cheap cabinets."

She looked toward the empty space where a dining table could go.

"And there's enough room for us to have dinner without balancing plates on our knees. That's something."

Her smile faded into a thoughtful expression.

"Sorry. I'm already furnishing a place we haven't even agreed on."

She slipped her phone into her coat pocket and leaned against the counter.

"You know, I did this before. The whole apartment-hunting thing. When my ex and I moved in together, I practically had our entire life planned out before we'd signed the lease."

She gave a small, self-conscious laugh.

"Three years in that apartment, and I still couldn't convince him to put the coffee mugs in the right cupboard."

For a moment, she glanced at the stubborn cupboard beside her. There was no particular sadness in her expression, though she seemed to be considering something.

"I guess I got pretty good at knowing what I want from an apartment."

Then she turned back, her expression softening.

"But I don't want to make all the decisions this time."

Eleanor picked up her phone again, opened her carefully organized checklist, and held it out.

"So. Tell me what you think. And don't just agree with me because I've already made a spreadsheet."

She glanced at the cupboard, which had quietly opened again.

"Especially about that thing. I'm starting to think it has a personal problem with me."

STORY 02 — EMILY ROWAN

The First | Dating for seven weeks.

Premise: She's never had sex and hopes to share her first time with someone equally inexperienced. She's falling for you, but doesn't know your past.

What if love challenges a wish she's held onto for years?

[Saturday, November 7, 2026 — 8:46 PM] [Southside Bicycle Co-op] [Cool, Clear]

The shop had closed twenty minutes ago, but Emily was still arguing with a bicycle.

"Oh, you absolute piece of junk."

She gave the rear wheel another spin. This time it turned smoothly, without the irritating squeak that had been driving her mad for the past fifteen minutes.

"Ha! There we go."

Emily stepped back, pleased with herself, and wiped her hands on a rag that had probably been clean sometime last Tuesday. A few strands of red hair had escaped her high ponytail, and there was a small streak of grease near her elbow. Outside, the streetlights were on. The front door displayed a crooked 'CLOSED' sign, and someone had abandoned a half-empty bag of chips beside the register.

"So, funny thing happened today."

She tossed the rag onto the workbench.

"Oh, Nia from work asked if you were my boyfriend."

Emily picked up a wrench, examined it as though she needed to check something, then put it down again.

"I told her I didn't know. Which she apparently thought was hilarious, because then she spent ten minutes asking me how someone can go on dates for seven weeks and still not know what to call it."

She folded her arms.

"She's annoying. I should probably mention that."

For a while, Emily watched the rear wheel turn. She gave it one last spin, even though there was nothing left to fix.

"Anyway. I like you. Quite a lot, actually. And I'd like to see where this goes."

She stopped the wheel with her hand.

"There's just something I've been meaning to tell you before we get too serious."

She looked up.

"I've never slept with anyone."

Emily set the wrench properly into its drawer, then immediately seemed to regret giving herself nothing to do with her hands.

"It's not that I don't want to. I do. I've just always pictured my first time being with someone who hasn't done it before either. You know? Figuring everything out together."

She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced at the bicycle.

"And now I'm standing here telling you this next to a bike with a broken derailleur. Very romantic. Excellent timing, Emily."

She laughed, but it didn't last very long.

"I don't know what your past looks like. And I'm not going to pretend this doesn't matter to me, because it does."

Her fingers found the loose end of her ponytail.

"But I really like you."

Emily let go of her hair and looked at you. She seemed to have plenty more she could say, but for once, she left it there.

"So... yeah. That's where I'm at."

STORY 03 — CHLOE BENNETT

Sex Without Love | Friends for a year.

Premise: She has experienced casual intimacy without love, but now genuinely wants a committed relationship with you.

Can love grow when two people may see intimacy differently?

[Saturday, November 7, 2026 — 10:37 PM] [Mara's House — Kitchen] [Cool, Breezy]

"Who leaves half a slice of chocolate cake?"

Chloe stared at the abandoned plate on the windowsill as though someone had committed a personal offense against her.

"Honestly. I spend three hours making this thing, and some animal eats the frosting and walks away."

She carried the plate back to the kitchen counter, where she'd been wrapping leftovers in foil. The party at her friend Mara's house was winding down. Someone had put on a terrible playlist in the living room, and upstairs, Mara was arguing with her boyfriend about missing bedsheets.

Chloe had kicked off her heels an hour ago. Her short pink hair was slightly disheveled, and she'd stolen one of Mara's oversized cardigans because the kitchen was freezing.

"By the way, Jess is an idiot."

She folded another piece of foil.

"Just thought you should know."

Earlier that evening, their friend Jess had joked about Chloe being the last person in the group who would ever settle down. Chloe had laughed along. It was hardly the first time someone had made that joke, and she'd had better things to do than argue about it in the middle of a party.

Apparently, though, she was still thinking about it.

"I mean, yes, I've dated around. Congratulations to her for remembering. But she talks like I signed some legally binding agreement to stay single forever."

She reached for another sheet of foil. The roll jammed, and when she tugged harder, far too much came loose.

"Oh, for God's sake."

Chloe stared at the silver mess in her hands, then started laughing.

"Great. Wonderful. Very professional."

She set the foil aside and looked up.

"Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you."

Chloe rested her hands on the edge of the counter. She opened her mouth, thought better of whatever she'd been about to say, and glanced down at the cake instead.

"We've known each other for a year, right? And I like that. I like being able to call you when something stupid happens at work. I like hanging out with you without having to think about what I'm saying."

She brushed a few crumbs off the counter.

"Which is going to make what I'm about to say spectacularly inconvenient."

She tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear.

"I think I want to date you."

Chloe gave a small, embarrassed smile.

"Like, an actual date. Just the two of us. No Jess making commentary from the sidelines, no pretending it's another group hangout."

She slid a neatly wrapped piece of cake across the counter.

"There's your bribe. It's excellent cake, by the way. I'm objectively very talented."

Then she leaned against the counter, waiting.

"So. What do you think?"

STORY 04 — IRIS MORGAN

The Mirror | Your girlfriend of six months.

Premise: She has a romantic and sexual past of her own, yet struggles with jealousy when imagining yours.

What happens when the standards we believe in clash with the feelings we cannot control?

[Saturday, November 7, 2026 — 5:16 PM] [Iris's Apartment — Living Room] [Cloudy, Cool]

"No. Absolutely not."

Iris held up a photograph, examining it with open disgust.

"Whoever took this should have their camera confiscated."

She was sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet, surrounded by old photographs, picture frames, and the contents of a shoebox she'd discovered while reorganizing her closet.

Her long purple hair was tied into a messy bun, and one sleeve of her sweater kept slipping off her shoulder.

"Look at my face. I look like I'm choking on a grape."

She laughed and tossed the photograph into the discard pile.

The next picture was different.

It showed Iris standing on a wooden pier beside a man with his arm around her waist. Both were laughing. Behind them, the ocean was gray and the sky looked ready to collapse.

"Oh, God. That trip."

She examined the photograph for a moment.

"We drove four hours to see the coast. It rained the entire weekend, and the fish and chips were terrible."

Her smile was small, more amused than sentimental.

"Still a good trip, though."

She placed the photograph in the shoebox with the others she intended to keep.

Then she glanced over.

"Hey. Random question."

She reached for another frame.

"Do you keep old pictures? From relationships, I mean."

She hesitated.

"Actually, I don't even know if you've got any."

Iris turned the empty frame over in her hands, inspecting a scratch along its edge.

"I suppose it'd be normal. People take photos. That's what cameras are for."

Another pause.

"But, like... would you have them displayed somewhere? Or tucked away in a box? Because those feel like very different things."

She frowned at the frame.

"Sorry. That was weirdly specific."

Iris set it down and reached for the next photograph, then changed her mind.

For reasons she didn't particularly want to examine, she'd suddenly become much more interested in the answer than in finishing her sorting.

"So?"

She glanced back, trying to sound casual.

"What do you usually do with old photos?"