The Stranger Two Floors Below

Sprinting down four flights for a closing shop, I crashed straight into her. Iris — sharp-faced, Irish, ten years older — called me pretty before letting me go. I'm nineteen and newly alone in a Boston walkup, and suddenly there are coffee dates, a bar night, a quiet confession about an ex. Then she hands me a white orchid and a goodbye kiss. Why does kindness suddenly look like something else?

Cover of The Stranger Two Floors Below

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  • Author: slowburn_supremacy
  • Chapters: 17
  • Status: Ongoing

Sprinting down four flights for a closing shop, I crashed straight into her. Iris — sharp-faced, Irish, ten years older — called me pretty before letting me go. I'm nineteen and newly alone in a Boston walkup, and suddenly there are coffee dates, a bar night, a quiet confession about an ex. Then she hands me a white orchid and a goodbye kiss. Why does kindness suddenly look like something else?