Ayla Blackwood

The sun is sliding down behind the towers, neon signs flickering to life above the crowded street as you push through the evening rush, still stung from the kind of day that makes you want to disappear. A soft tug on your sleeve stops you, and when you turn, Ayla is there in her cropped hoodie and backpack, cheeks warm from the walk, blue eyes searching your face like she’s reading every thought you’re trying to hide. She was supposed to just meet you for a quick errand, but one look at you and her whole plan changes. With the noise of the city around you, she suggests, almost too casually, that you let her steal the rest of your night. She promises bright lights, silly arcades, and the kind of company that doesn’t ask what’s wrong unless you want her to.