WHEN I STEPPED ONTO THE BALCONY, I was surprised to see [y/n] already there.

She had her foot kicked up onto the railing, a coffee mug in one hand, and a nail-polish brush in the other. The white robe had been donned again, but with no head towel, and she was trying to paint her toenails without spilling her drink. The sight in itself was strange—but I felt more pride in knowing she was on the balcony, and not missing like before.

"I think you missed a spot," I said, taking a sip of my own drink.

She must not have heard me step outside, because she let out a yelp, nearly spilling her coffee all over her white robe. Her nail-polish was safe—but her foot, however, was not. A large streak of red now ran from her pinkie to the end of her ankle.

"Oh, shit-balls!" She exclaimed, gathering herself. "If you meant my whole leg, I've probably fixed it by now."

I stifled a laugh. "Are you okay?"

"I look like I'm bleeding."

"It's avant-garde."

"Well, that's an interesting take." She set her mug down on the floor, rubbing at the streak with her fist. "I didn't think you'd be up this early."

I shrugged. "Early riser."

The red hadn't rubbed off in the slightest, only resulting in her palms looking bloody and raw. I felt almost bad for scaring her, but she stared at the streak with an unusual fascination, almost like that of a child looking at their chalk. It was only until the silence had grown too apparent that she snapped out of her trance.

"I can cover it with a sock," she said, turning to look at me. "Oh, and I'll do your interview and photos today. Don't worry about wearing Mary's clothes, just pick whatever you want from your own closet."

I raised a brow. "Are you sure Mary would like that?"

"I'm not planning on going into the office."

"No?"

"I've decided to change the theme of your editorial," she smiled. "Nothing big, just a more natural take."

I must have seemed stunned or surprised, because she waved her hand at me, motioning for me to get back inside my flat. I downed the rest of my coffee, doing as she wished. She was certainly an interesting character but I was glad to be back on track with work again. This "natural take" was unusual, though.

I didn't know what she meant by that.

➵

There's a hill in Central Park that looks like the edge of a cliff, with its jagged rocks and mossy terrain. If it wasn't for the trees behind it, one would think you could fall off the edge with a single step.

[y/n] was wearing an orange skirt with matching tights, a brown and red striped shirt, and tall black boots that cut off just under her knees. On the top of her head was a beret—which seemed like a strange combination of France and cliché—but she wore earrings shaped like the Eiffel tower and I suppose that made up for it. She was crouched on the grass across from me, fiddling with a small camera in front of her.

"You match the leaves." I chuckled, crossing my arms against my chest.

"Hm?" The woman said absent-mindedly, looking up from her work. Her eyes flickered to the trees around her, a warm mess of Autumn colours on the branches and roots. She could have been a tree herself. "Oh, yeah. You're right."

"It's not a bad outfit, though."

"You like it?"

"Yeah."

"Commit it to memory, then. I try not to wear the same thing twice."

"Really?"

"I find it easier to remember days by what I was wearing," she said, holding the camera up to her eye. She snapped a picture of me looking at her. "For example, your outfit reminds me of an asparagus. Specifically, the asparagus I plan to make for dinner today."

While the comparison may have seemed unconventional, I agreed. I'd picked out a green cardigan with darker green pants, and the purple shirt I'd worn underneath may have made me look like the bushel. I'd only picked the outfit to compliment my reddish hair, but perhaps I'd forgotten to compare myself to produce before leaving the house. If I was to be an asparagus, I'd be it with pride.

"I'm afraid you remind me of something less interesting," I said with a laugh.

"The trees?"

"The trees. Maybe all of it. You remind me of New York in the Fall." Her camera snapped another picture, but I hadn't changed my pose. I'd been more focused on observing her to bother. "Have we started already?"

"No, no, keep talking."

"You're taking my picture."

"It's a test shot," she explained, peeking out from behind the camera. "Need to see if the film's working."

The slight grin on her face made me hesitant to believe her, but I couldn't see the harm in any lying on the matter. The day was beautiful, the park was quiet, and together we were dressed like a carrot and its stem. If I found my mind empty of thoughts, I could always look at her black boots, knowing a streak of red nail polish lay hidden underneath.

After a while, she stood, motioning for me to follow her away from the cliffy-hill.

"You're much more amiable like this," she said, capping the lens of her camera. "I like it much better, Kit."

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my trousers. "I could say the same for you."

"We could have been friends before today."

"So we are friends?"

"Naturally," she said with a laugh. "One doesn't give someone a bowl of spaghetti without them being friends. I'll have you know that any food in my house is considered my property, and only a select few are allowed to partake in it."

I bowed my head. "Oh, what an honour it's been."

"Don't mock me."

"The spaghetti queen has knighted me. May my allegiance to her kitchen be eternal."

She curled her hand up into a fist, whacking me in the arm. I reeled away in laughter, narrowly ducking out of the way of a passing bicyclist. It was only until I heard the click of a camera that I noticed she'd uncapped her lens, aiming it straight at me.

"Did you take another picture of me?" I asked. "One of me nearly getting trampled?"

She shook her head. "It's a test shot."

"You're lying."

"I haven't put any film in yet."

I knew better than to bicker, so I resumed our path, keeping a wary eye out for any more bicyclists. We didn't stop walking until we reached a giant field, where the skyscrapers of New York seemed to tower over us like giants, casting shadows onto the brown grass beneath our feet. A few families were straggled about the expanse, but [y/n] sat down in a spot far from any crowds. In a city so busy, it seemed impossible that she'd found such a quiet place.

I sat across from her, leaning back to look at the sky.

"What was it like back in Croydon?" She asked. "You said your parents played swing music when you were growing up, right?"

I smiled to myself. "Yeah. My mum could never get enough, really."

"Do you miss your family?"

"Loads. You can't just move across an ocean and not feel like you're missing a big part of yourself. I can't fit my past life into a suitcase, but I can't find it in a new flat here. Moving feels like starting a new life." I sighed. "I don't know, it's hard to describe. I probably did a shit job of it, to be honest. But I know leaving my old home doesn't mean forgetting it, so at least I can always keep the memories with me."

I waited for her to respond, but nothing came. I straightened my head, gazing at her in curiosity. She was staring straight at me, a slight smile creeping onto the corner of her lips. There was something soft about her expression—softer than I'd ever seen from someone with such chaos in their life—and she seemed almost too deep in thought to realise I'd noticed her.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No."

"You're staring at me funny."

"I'm impressed." She sprawled out more on the grass, her arms behind her back and her legs stretched out in front of her. "For a second you looked like a different person."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll figure this out quickly, Kit," she said. "Nobody's themself in New York. We're always playing a part, just trying to get to the next day without ruining someone else's. Even when you came here, you weren't Kit Codfish from Croydon, you were Kit Connor the Actor. Hearing you talk gave me a glimpse at who you were before."

I shrugged. "I doubt I've changed that much."

"You will."

"And you know this for certain?"

"That's life." She nodded, picking up her camera again. "That's New York."

Click. She took a picture of my doubtful expression, eyebrows raised and body sitting up in interest. I didn't like the idea of changing, but she spoke with a surprising wisdom that I found myself slowly believing. After all, in the course of four days, I'd met her, hated her, and became her friend. All of it happened quickly, as if time wasn't a thing at all. But if it was New York or her, I didn't know.

We kept talking for a while, the day dipping into late afternoon, and a chill breeze seeping into the park. She refused to have me pose for pictures, only waiting till I was off guard to take something, and asking questions that would lead me to ramble off. As time passed, it stopped feeling like an interview, and more of a normal day.

"Want to get a snack?" She asked. "I know a place."

"You're not tired of me yet?"

"No. But I am hungry."

"A snack sounds good."

"Great. Follow me."

➵

When we returned home, she put on her Beatles record again, the music only a faint hum through my walls. If I wanted to hear the words properly, I would have to press my ear against my living room wall to understand. 

When the vinyl seemed to have come to an end, I waited for her to start it again—but she didn't. At exactly nine in the evening, she stopped her music and didn't play it again.

I couldn't help but smile to myself.