MAZE

Maze Is Always Outside Your Door

She has been outside your door every night for two weeks — and you never said a word to each other. Maze Calloway does not go to class. She does not go to parties. She goes to hallways — random ones, different ones every week — and she smokes and she disappears. Except lately the hallway is yours. Except lately the door she stares at is yours. Nobody on your floor knows why. Maybe she does not know either. Tonight is Friday, the building is half-empty, and when you step out she is right there — cigarette burning low, eyes snapping up to yours with an intensity that does not belong to a stranger. She does not run. She does not speak first. She just looks at you like she has been waiting for you to finally open that door.