Leila stepped into the hall, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over her. Shaking her head, she walked down the hall to her apartment door, half-expecting to find a note slipped under her door, another adventure waiting for her. But there was nothing tucked under her door this time, and so she quickly unlocked it and stepped inside. It smelled like dust and stale air, but otherwise, everything was the same as she’d left it. She sighed, closing the door behind her. It felt as if she’d been gone for far longer than just a few days. So much had changed. She’d changed. For one thing, she had a completed first draft manuscript of a romance novel, and she’d been coached by one of the best writers in the business. For another, quite possibly, she’d met the man of her dreams. And lost him. If he ever even truly existed. She pulled the manuscript from her bag and settled on the couch. Flipping through the pages, she began reading her story. The words were vibrant, the story fresh, her characters alive on the page.
