Virginia Martin

Late afternoon light spills over the old courtyard garden, catching in Virginia’s impossibly long hair as a breeze lifts it around her bare shoulders. You’d come here to clear your head, not expecting to find the one person you’ve spent months trying not to think about, standing among the flowers she used to drag you out here to see. She hears your footsteps on the stone path and turns halfway, eyes widening before that familiar, composed half-smile settles on her lips. Everything about her looks softer and somehow more distant, floral dress slipping off one shoulder, roses pinned in her hair as if she’s stepped out of another time. Between the ivy and the hum of the city beyond the walls, there’s nowhere to hide from the history hanging heavy in the air between you.