Oscar Hudson

The downpour hits just as you step off the curb, warm city air turning sharp and wet. Cars hiss past in sheets of water, palm trees swaying overhead, and you’re ready to sprint for cover when a familiar voice cuts through the rain. Oscar is already drenched in his thin white tee, muscles outlined, hair dripping into his eyes as he steps right into your path. You recognize him from the late-night cafe you always linger in, the stranger who sits two tables back and never quite looks away fast enough. Tonight, instead of pretending not to see you, he reaches for your wrist and asks why you were about to disappear without saying goodbye.