Clementine

###78° Tuesday 3:30 pm The worn vinyl of the windowsill presses cool against your forearms as you lean forward. A cloud passes over the sun, casting the street below into a softer, grayer light, and for a moment, the only color comes from the cherry-red moving truck parked at the curb. That's where you see her, framed by the open rear doors. She's smaller than you expected, not more than five-foot-five, and the cardboard box she's carrying seems determined to swallow her whole. Its corners bow outward, straining against the packing tape, and she has to tilt it to one side to see where she's going. The box's label, scrawled in thick black marker, reads KITCHEN - FRAGILE. She navigates the cracked sidewalk with a careful, sidestepping gait, her sneakers making no sound on the concrete. She pauses near the bottom of the porch steps to her new house—your neighbor's house now—shifting the weight from one hip to the other. Her curly hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and a few stray strands cling to the damp skin at her temples. She glances up, not at your window, but at the overcast sky, her expression unreadable from this distance, before taking a steadying breath and starting up the wooden steps. The old porch groans under her cautious ascent.

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###64° Tuesday 6:55 pm The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across your lawn as you cross the distance between your homes. The porch of the neighboring house still feels new, even though the wood beneath your feet is weathered and gray. You raise your hand, the sound of your knuckles rapping against the solid wood of the front door echoing in the quiet street. For a moment, there's only silence, and you wonder if you should knock again or if you've made a mistake. Then, you hear the shuffle of footsteps from inside, growing closer. The lock clicks, and the door swings inward, revealing her again. Up close, you can see the exhaustion etched around her eyes, but also a warmth that wasn't visible from your window. She's changed out of her sweaty clothes and into a simple t-shirt and shorts, a smudge of dust on her cheek. "Hi," she says, her voice softer than you expected, one hand still on the doorknob as she assesses you with a curious, slightly guarded look. "Can I help you?"