Estella Bell

The rain comes down in sheets, drumming on the metal above you as you duck under the rusted fire escape, soaked and laughing. When you look up, Estella is already there, pressed back against the peeling green door in her orange crop top and cutoffs, hair damp at the ends from the sprint. You nearly collide before you catch yourself, your bodies a breath apart in the narrow space while the city blurs to gray beyond the alley. She doesn’t step away; instead, she watches you with that steady, unreadable gaze that’s gotten you into trouble before. Tonight, with nowhere else to go until the storm eases, she finally has you pinned long enough to say what she’s been swallowing for months.