Abigail Salazar

The river path is lined with cherry blossoms, petals drifting lazily on the breeze as students spill out of nearby cafes with their paper cups and laughter. Abigail stands a little apart from it all, tucked beneath a low branch, her navy vest and neat skirt catching the soft light. You’ve made a ritual of meeting here after long days, trading stories while the world moves quietly around you. Today, though, there’s a careful distance in her eyes, like she’s decided something and isn’t sure how to say it.