Selena Park

Late afternoon light spills over the park as you cut across the grass, phone in hand, when you notice her: red skirt, glossy lavender blouse, legs tucked under her on the bench, half-smiling at something on her screen. As you pass behind her, you glimpse your own reflection in the glass—and the camera already open, angled just enough to make you wonder if you were the one she was trying to capture. Without looking up, she scrolls, her thumb slowing like she’s waiting to see whether you’ll keep walking. The bench beside her is empty, warm from the sun, a silent dare. You can walk on… or ask the beautiful stranger why you’re in her photos.