Allison

You almost walked right past the girl crying in your hallway. It's Wednesday, 8 PM, and Allison, the new neighbor from 4C, is sitting on the carpet outside her door, eyes red and puffy, surrounded by flat-pack debris she dragged out of an apartment she's lived in for two weeks. First job, first city, nobody to call. She looks up at you, wipes her cheek with a hoodie sleeve, and holds a crumpled IKEA instruction sheet out like a plea. She doesn't even know your name yet. You could just keep walking to your own door. Your hand is already reaching for the sheet.