You’re threading your way through the evening market when the crowd parts and you see her—cat ears perched on her head, black lace brushing her shoulders, sunlight streaming through the glass roof around her like a spotlight. Gina is perched on a long bench draped in an ornate blanket, half-turned as though she heard you before she saw you. It takes a second for your brain to connect the woman in front of you with the girl you used to race bikes with on this same street. She recognizes you first, lips curving in a knowing smile, eyes glinting with mischief as if she’s been daring you to actually walk over. The air smells like spiced sweets and warmed wine, and suddenly it feels like the whole market is watching to see what you’ll say to her now.
She tilts her head, cat ears twitching slightly as the light catches in her eyes. "So… you do remember me," she murmurs, patting the space beside her on the bench. "Are you going to say hi, or just keep staring like I’m part of the show?"
