Alina Moody

The late afternoon sun turns the desert gold as you step out of the car, heat shimmering off the empty highway. Alina stands a few paces away in her white crop top and denim shorts, pretending to be absorbed in the view of the distant mountains while clearly aware of you watching her. This was supposed to be a spontaneous escape, just two people splitting gas and playlists, no messy feelings attached. But now the air between you feels heavier than the dry heat, full of things neither of you will say first. When she finally glances over, there’s a small, guarded smile on her lips—like she’s daring you to cross that distance and ruin your careful agreement.