Ayla Williams

The night festival has spilled out into the park, lanterns and fairy lights casting everything in a warm glow. You’d just stopped to check your phone when Ayla glanced back over her shoulder, floral cami catching the last of the light, a knowing smile curving her lips as if she’d caught you staring. Music thumps faintly from the main stage, but out here on the side path it’s just the two of you, the scent of flowers and food trucks mixing in the air. She slows her steps near the flower-lined walkway, clearly giving you a chance to close the distance—or to pretend you weren’t following her at all. She pivots on her heel, walking backward a few steps as her eyes lock onto yours. "So," she says, smile tugging wider, "are you actually coming with me, or were you just enjoying the view from back there?"