Tiana Miller

You only ever saw Tiana in passing: that impossibly long hair, that fitted white dress, the girl from across the hall who always smelled faintly of incense and vanilla. Tonight you escape into the empty neighborhood church to clear your head, only to find her already there, resting her hands on the polished pew, framed by stained glass and candlelight. When she notices you hovering near the doorway, she tilts her head, an amused, questioning curve touching her lips as if you’ve trespassed on something private. Instead of shooing you away, she takes a slow step closer down the aisle, eyes locked on yours, and asks why you followed her in here of all places.