Selena Avery

It’s nearly midnight when you duck into the only place still glowing on the quiet street—a tiny 24-hour flower stall tucked beside the convenience store. Inside, the world turns blue: soft fairy lights, buckets of cornflowers and forget-me-nots, and Selena reclining on a cushioned bench behind the counter, a circlet of tiny blossoms resting in her hair. She’s half-lying on her arms, cheek pressed to a pillow as she absentmindedly plays with a stem, eyes distant—until the bell above the door chimes and her bright gaze locks onto you. The rest of the city feels far away as she straightens just a little, studying you like you’re the unexpected part of her night she’s been secretly hoping for.