Maya didn't sleep.
She lay on her mattress, staring at the ceiling crack, replaying the hearing in her head. The judge's voice. The landlord's stiff posture. Vanessa's calm questions. The moment the gavel came down.
Rent increase denied.
She'd won. They'd won. A small win, Leo had called it. But it didn't feel small. It felt like the first real thing she'd accomplished in years.
Her phone buzzed at 6:15 AM.
Leo: Are you awake?
Yes.
Me neither.
What are you doing?
Looking at the painting. The one of you. I added more details last night.
Can I see it?
Come to the roof.
She dressed quickly. The hallway was cold. The new lightbulb was still working. She climbed the stairs to the roof door.
The sky was pale blue. The sun hadn't fully risen. The garden looked grey in the early light.
Leo stood by the easel. He wore the same grey hoodie. His hair was messier than usual.
She walked to the painting.
He'd added more to the background. The buildings across the alley. The fire escape. The open window on the third floor. And in the window, a small figure. A man. Drawing.
"That's you," she said.
"Yes."
"You put yourself in the painting."
"I'm always watching. Might as well be honest about it."
She looked at her own blurred face. "Why am I still blurry?"
"Because I don't know what you look like when you're not worried. Last night you won. Are you still worried?"
She thought about it. "Yes. The building hasn't sold. The landlord could try something else. Mrs. Patterson is still in the facility. My father is still gone. My mother still doesn't call."
"That's a lot of worries."
"That's my life."
Leo set down his brush. "Can I paint you now? Without the blur?"
She sat on the milk crate. "Okay."
He picked up his brush. He mixed paint. He started working.
The sun rose behind her. The garden warmed. The city woke up.
---
An hour later, he stopped.
"Come look."
She stood and walked to the easel.
Her face was still soft, but the features were there. The dark circles under her eyes. The small scar on her chin. The way her hair fell over her forehead.
It wasn't a photograph. It was something else. Something truer.
"You made me look tired," she said.
"You are tired."
"You made me look sad."
"You are sad." He set down the brush. "But you're also strong. I tried to show that too."
She looked at the painting for a long time. Then she turned to him.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She kissed him. The easel wobbled. He caught it with one hand and held her with the other.
---
At 9 AM, she went to the facility.
Mrs. Patterson was in the common room, eating breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Toast. A cup of tea that had gone cold.
"You're early," the old woman said.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Too excited?"
"Too something."
Maya sat next to her and told her about the hearing. The judge. The landlord. The denied rent increase.
Mrs. Patterson listened without interrupting. When Maya finished, the old woman set down her fork.
"You did good," Mrs. Patterson said.
"We did good. You started this. You and your kitchen table and your folding chairs."
"I just made toast. You did the rest."
Maya took her hand. "I miss you at the building."
"I miss it too. But I can't go back."
"You don't know that."
"I'm eighty-one years old, Maya. I can't climb the stairs. I can't carry groceries. I can't even turn on the oven without getting tired." She squeezed Maya's fingers. "The building was my home. But it's not my home anymore. This is."
Maya looked around the common room. The beige walls. The plastic chairs. The television playing a game show with the volume off.
"This isn't a home," Maya said. "It's a waiting room."
"Maybe. But I'm not waiting for death. I'm waiting for you to visit. That's different."
Maya leaned her head on Mrs. Patterson's shoulder. The old woman's shoulder was bony. It smelled like lavender soap.
"I'll visit every week," Maya said.
"I know you will."
---
At noon, Maya went back to her building.
Mr. Chen was in the lobby, fixing a loose step on the staircase. He looked up when she came in.
"The landlord called," he said. "He wants to meet with the tenant association. Next Tuesday."
"What about?"
"He didn't say. But he sounded nervous."
"Good."
Mr. Chen smiled. "That's what I said."
Maya went up to her room. She called Vanessa.
"The landlord wants a meeting," she said.
"Don't go alone. Bring witnesses. Record everything if you can."
"What should we demand?"
"Repairs. A written agreement that he won't raise the rent for at least two years. And no evictions without a court order."
"That's a lot."
"It's a starting point. Negotiate hard."
Maya hung up. She made a list of demands. Repairs. Rent freeze. Eviction protection. She printed three copies.
Then she went to find Leo.
---
He was in the basement.
The door was unlocked. She knocked once, then opened it.
He was sitting on the mattress, drawing. His sketchbook was open. He looked up when she came in.
"The landlord wants a meeting," she said.
"I heard. Mr. Chen told me."
"Will you come?"
"To the meeting?"
"Yes. As a witness."
He set down his pencil. "I don't live in the building. I'm not a tenant."
"You're a neighbor. You're my..." She paused. "You're Leo. That's enough."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I'll come."
---
She sat on the floor across from him. The concrete was cold. The mini-fridge hummed.
"I've been thinking about my father," she said.
Leo waited.
"He left when I was twelve. No note. No goodbye. Just gone." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "My mother never talked about him. Not once. It was like he died, but without the funeral."
"That's worse," Leo said. "At least with death, you know. You have a body. A grave. Something to visit."
"Yes."
"My mother died. I watched it happen. I held her hand. And still, sometimes I wake up and think she's in the next room." He looked at his hands. "Grief is weird."
"Did you ever find your father?"
"No. I stopped looking."
"Why?"
"Because he didn't want to be found."
Maya nodded. She understood that.
They sat in silence. The basement was cold. She shivered.
Leo stood and pulled a blanket from the mattress. He wrapped it around her shoulders. The blanket smelled like him. Soap and pencil graphite.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're cold."
"I'm always cold."
"You should fix your radiator."
"I'm working on it."
He sat back down. They were close now. Their knees almost touched
E.
"Maya."
"Yeah."
"I have something to tell you."
Her heart beat faster. "What?"
He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then shook his head.
"Not yet," he said. "Soon. But not yet."
She wanted to push. But she didn't. "Okay."