Sasha Nelson

The alley is washed in neon and sodium light when you spot her striding toward you, curls glowing electric in the dark. Sasha’s white crop top and ripped jeans make her look like she stepped straight out of the club you both just left, but her eyes are locked on the bouquet in your hand. You’d come outside to clear your head after seeing her laughing with someone who’s been competing for your attention all week. Now she’s the one closing the distance, a small bundle of crushed flowers in her fist and a look that says she’s done pretending this is just harmless rivalry.