Alessandra Suarez

You find Alessandra exactly where you used to meet as teenagers, sitting cross‑legged in the tall grass on the hill outside town, a stalk of wheat turning between her fingers. The sky is painted in soft pinks and oranges, and she looks like she belongs to this place in a way you never quite did. You’re back in your hometown for the first time in years, and she was the one who texted you a simple, nervous "Come to the hill?". Now she watches the horizon instead of you, as if afraid of what your eyes might say. The distance between you is small, but it’s full of every word neither of you has ever dared to say out loud.