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It’s late Spring. The sun sets at seven. It’s slowly getting warmer. The birds sing their evening songs. Solji’s jacket hangs loosely off her shoulders as she crosses the street. She reaches into her bag as she searches for her keys. Her apartment building looms in the distance, tucked in between two evergreens. Up the driveway and through the courtyard she goes. Primroses dot the ground. Vines crawl up the brick wall. Solji keeps up a brisk pace. A thousand thoughts sit at the forefront of her mind. She thinks about her dogs and how she needs to take them for a walk. She thinks about the leftover food in her fridge. She thinks about her students and which pieces she wants them to practice next. She thinks about her university research and the upcoming dissertation that she has to fight for. There’s music coming from somewhere. Solji stops, places her hand by her ear, then turns. There’s a woman sitting on the windowsill on the ground floor. She’s wearing light blue flannel, grey joggers, and has a constellation of small tattoos scattered across her arms. She’s got a baseball cap on with the brim pulled low, casting shadows across her face. There’s a cigarette between her fingers. The smoke rises into the air, then disappears. Solji huffs and wrinkles her nose. The building managers have been sending out warnings about smoking and that anyone caught will be fined. The smell drifts through the apartments, all the way to the top floor where Solji lives, and every weekend her living room slowly begins to smell like cigarette smoke. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closes it. She furrows her brow, bites her lip, then raises her jaw and stares directly at the woman in the window. The woman turns slowly, realising she’s being watched. A smile is drawn from her lips and all she does is lift the cigarette to her lips and inhales, then exhales. Smoke rises, then disappears up into the evening sky. Solji watches the slow rise and fall of the woman’s chest. She feels a storm brewing within her. The words are sitting on the tip of her tongue. This time she’s really going to say something. The woman stretches out her arm, the cigarette resting between her fingertips. «Looks like you need it.» The woman shrugs. Solji bites back her gasp. Her hands clench into fists, but soon enough she finds herself marching straight towards the woman sitting in the window. Solji steps over the magnolia bushes, then grabs the woman’s wrist harshly, feeling a jolt of resistance. There’s a struggle between them. The woman swears under her breath. All those words come crashing towards Solji’s gritted teeth, a barrier just waiting to be broken. The words press against those pearly whites, relentlessly. Then, without thinking, Solji bends down, grabbing the cigarette between her pretty pink lips and pulls away, taking the cigarette with her. Solji’s never smoked before. Never done drugs, and she never drinks on her own —she has no idea what to do now. Her body’s on fire. Blood boils in her veins. She needs to calm down. Solji tries to take a drag; the way they do in movies where they look cool and suave against a dark backdrop with the city bustling around them. She tries, but then feels something in her chest. A grey cloud has settled in her lungs, expanding, and expanding, and —Solji coughs, spitting out the cigarette. She bows over, coughing into a fisted hand. Her bag swings around, dangling from her neck. When she manages to catch her breath again, she sees the cigarette on the ground and decides to smother it under her heel. «Not like that!» The woman laughs, then climbs down from the windowsill and disappears into her apartment. She’s got a slight edge to her voice when she speaks. The music becomes louder. Solji’s jacket is hanging off her left shoulder. A stray strand of hair hangs over her eyes. She stands outside for a while. Now all of those thousands of things she was thinking about earlier disappear from her mind and all she’s trying to understand is the woman who just handed her a cigarette by the window like it was a drive-thru. Anything else with that order? And now Solji’s stuck in the bushes trying to understand why she did any of this in the first place. Just as Solji’s about to turn and leave, the woman comes back with two glasses of champagne. Solji doesn’t understand what’s going on. She looks at it like it’s poison, then looks back up at the woman leaning over the windowsill. «It’s Dom ‘88.» The woman explains. «What does that mean?» Solji blinks. The woman laughs, throwing her head back. «Means it’s expensive.» Solji takes a deep breath, then gently takes the glass of champagne with both hands and bows her head. She brings it to her nose and sniffs. She makes a dignified sound and purses her lips. She looks up at the woman, tilts her head, then asks: «What’re you celebrating?» The woman leans closer. Solji can see her more clearly now. Large round eyes. Blonde hair tied into a low ponytail. A smile tugging on her red lips. Familiar, yet unfamiliar. «Someone out there likes my music.» The woman says coolly, swirling the champagne in her glass. «You’re a composer?» Solji breathes —she’s interested now, and everything for some odd reason begins to make sense. «Of sorts.» The woman smirks. «I think I wrote a hit song.» «You think?» Solji feels like laughing. Her head feels light. The sun is setting. It’s getting colder. She wraps her jacket tightly around her body. «It’s gonna be huge.» The woman says proudly. «Just sold it to one of those big girl groups.» «You don’t know their name?» Solji can’t help but laugh. Her cheeks burn, her eyebrows are raised with bemusement. Then she quickly hides her smile behind her hand. «Does it matter?» The woman says with a bright smile; as bright as the stars. «I finally get to breathe.» Solji’s shoulders slump, she drops her hand and suddenly finds herself in a place of understanding. Her smile becomes smaller, but no less honest. Maybe if Solji had been fifteen years younger and she was still with her old Entertainment Company, she would’ve argued and said it does matter because the girls in the group matter. Their dreams mean something. And damn it, shouldn’t that be important to anyone who’s ever wished for anything in their lives? But that’s gone and in the past now, and Solji’s on a different path, fulfilling in its own way. When she looks at the woman in the window, she feels a sense of longing —but not the kind of longing that eats away at the soul. Something more profound. Special. Something they can both share without it costing a piece of their mind. «I guess it doesn’t matter.» Solji whispers, rueful. «Hey,» the woman holds out her glass, lightly tapping it against Solji’s, «this is for both of us.» They’re looking at each other now, as if the other were the foreigner. Who is this creature? What do you want? Why are you out here when no one else is around? A thousand words linger between them. Unsaid. Unspoken. Throw a rock in a greenhouse made of glass and see what happens… Solji takes a deep breath and raises the glass of champagne. She meets the other woman’s gaze. There’s something dangerous about the way she looks at Solji. It’s an undoing; it peels away all of Solji’s layers. One by one. Gone. The wind blows gently through her bones. «Alright.» Solji smiles this time. It reaches her eyes. She’s glowing. She juts out her jaw with defiance, hoping it’ll make her seem a bit braver than she actually is right now. «I can drink to that.» She throws her head back. The bubbles fizz and pop in her mouth. The pale yellowish colour suddenly starts to look more golden in the setting sunlight. For a brief moment Solji wonders if this is what gold tastes like; the flavour of all her past dreams carefully melting away on her tongue…