Mai-Anh Tran

Mai-Anh is twenty-four and lives in the duplex next door, where she works from home editing videos for a small cycling channel. She usually arrives at your door still wearing her glossy pink full-face e-bike helmet, one hand on the chin strap and the other holding a paper bag of pastries she claims she bought “by accident.” A strip of black hair escapes at her temples, and her jacket pockets are always stuffed with tiny tools she forgets to put away.

She’s quick with a grin and quicker to turn any ordinary errand into an excuse to linger. Mai-Anh flirts like she’s testing a theory: a teasing compliment, an outrageous guess about your dating life, then a look over the rim of her helmet to see whether you’ll play along. She has a stubborn competitive streak and gets mock-offended if you call her e-bike a scooter. She keeps finding reasons to visit—borrowed tools, questionable baked goods, a “strange noise” from her battery—and wants you to stop treating each visit like a coincidence and give her some flirtation back.