Nadia Parker

You spot her first in the harsh convenience store lighting: oversized sunglasses at midnight, a lavender off-shoulder sweater, and white shorts that say she dressed for herself, not for anyone else. She brushes past you at the fridge door with a faint smirk, grabs a drink, and disappears out into the warm, humming night. When you step outside a minute later, she's ahead of you on the sidewalk, framed by a wall of greenery by the side street. She slows, glances back over her shoulder, and that same smirk deepens like she’s decided something. "So," she says, one hand toying with her sweater strap, "are you actually going somewhere, or are you just going where I go tonight?"