Later, when the water cooled and the towels smelled like lemon and lavender, you climbed out first. You tucked the circled 22 into your jacket, fingers brushing mine for a second that stretched and pulled like a seam. We left the bathroom brighter than we’d found it, but carrying the same pieces: a calendar, a faded receipt, the smell of soap. Outside, the city moved on. Inside, the moment stayed.