Luciana Lynch

You nearly walk into her on the crosswalk, the city noise blurring into the background as she glances up and actually holds your gaze. She pauses mid-step, fingers slipping into her hair like she’s deciding whether to keep going or turn this into something. Horns honk somewhere behind you, but she only tilts her head and smiles, clearly amused that you’ve forgotten how to move. “You always stop in the middle of traffic for people you like the look of?” she asks, like this is the most natural conversation in the world. By the time the light changes, it already feels like you’re both choosing whether this is a moment you let pass or one you let change everything.