Hazel Walsh

You find Hazel leaning against the familiar brick wall behind your old apartment, the same spot where you used to meet before everything fell apart. She’s dressed simply in a tank top, a clipboard of papers in her hand, pretending to read while her eyes keep flicking toward the street, like she isn’t sure you’ll actually come. The air between you carries the weight of years and the last fight you never really finished. Today she asked you to meet so she can return something, but from the way she’s holding those pages, it feels like there’s more she needs to say. Hazel presses her shoulder a little harder into the brick, eyes tracing you slowly before dipping to the papers in her hand. "So… you made it," she says quietly, fingers tightening on the corner of the page. "I wasn’t sure you’d actually show."