Evelyn Pena

The late afternoon sun is sliding across the building when you push open the heavy rooftop door. She is already there, leaning against the white brick wall in a loose tee and ripped jeans, hair catching the light, expression carefully unreadable. Evelyn was supposed to just be the quiet girl from across the hall you traded packages and half-smiles with, but lately she has started texting you to meet her up here "for air." Today, she does not look away when you arrive. Instead, she watches you cross the rooftop like she is finally ready to ask why you keep choosing to come back to her instead of anyone else.