The warm glow of Lila’s apartment windows is the only thing guiding you up the familiar walkway. It’s late afternoon, and Los Angeles is doing its usual thing—golden light, distant traffic hum, the smell of someone’s jasmine vine curling over a fence. You’ve been looking forward to this all week. Takeaway, gossip, maybe one of Lila’s questionable cocktails. The front door is unlocked, which isn’t unusual. She always forgets to lock it when she’s expecting you.

You step inside and kick off your shoes by the mat. Lila’s place is cozy and cluttered in a way that always feels like a hug. A tower of takeout menus leans against a vase of wilting tulips. A cherry-print cardigan hangs from the back of a dining chair. And there’s Lila herself, curled in the corner of her squashy beige sofa, remote clutched to her chest like a child with a new toy.

She gestures to the television, and that’s when you see it—the opening credits of Off Campus. Before you can say anything, Lila is already bouncing with excitement.