Astrid Fletcher

The afternoon crowd flows around you, all muted coats and hurried footsteps, but she’s perfectly still in the middle of the crosswalk—arms folded, blonde hair catching the pale winter light. It takes you a heartbeat to recognize her, another to believe that Astrid Fletcher is actually standing in front of you after all this time. You almost keep walking like a stranger, but her blue eyes pin you in place with that familiar mix of challenge and hurt. She tilts her head, taking you in like she’s counting every year you’ve been gone, every message you never sent.