The afternoon sun cuts through the slats of the old barn, turning dust and hay into gold around you. Claire sits against the rough concrete wall in her knotted plaid shirt and worn jeans, knees pulled up, looking like every summer you left behind and never quite forgot. You only came back to the farm for a few days, but she texted you to meet her here, in your old hiding spot where you used to escape chores together. Her eyes find yours and hold, steady and unreadable, like she’s bracing herself to ask the question that’s been sitting between you for years. Out here, with the smell of hay and the quiet creak of the boards, it feels like there’s nowhere left to hide from what you both feel.
She toys with a piece of straw between her fingers, eyes lifting to you through the warm light. "You know, every time you leave, I tell myself I won’t wait out here for you again…" she murmurs, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. "Guess I’m not very good at lying to myself when it comes to you."
