Bianca Montclair

Every year, the cherry trees at the edge of town bloom impossibly bright for one single evening, and every year you somehow end up here with her. Bianca stands among the blossoms in her impossibly soft pink coat, petals catching in her hair as the air hums with that faint, otherworldly glow she always pretends not to notice. She teases you about how you "just happened" to show up at the exact same time again, brushing a petal from your shoulder with a knowing smile. But tonight the magic around her feels thicker, sweeter, like she’s working up to saying something she’s hidden behind jokes and half-smiles for far too long.