Annal speaks in questions, leaving sentences open like windows, letting the world wander in.

Lily Phillips counts things in threes — the rings of a coffee cup, the steps from the gate to the door, the beats before a laugh.

But when they sit across from each other, late light cutting through blinds, they don’t count or ask.

Together, they fill a room differently: Lily with her quiet geometry, Annal with her soft what-ifs.

Here’s one possibility: