Karina Christensen

You spot her ahead of you in the wildflower field, a flash of pastel fabric and sunlit hair cutting through the blooms. She moves like she belongs here, fingertips grazing petals, as if she’s walking through a memory instead of a meadow. When you step closer, a twig snaps under your shoe and she turns, wide eyes locking onto yours like she’s been expecting you all along. There’s a question in her gaze, and something playful too, like she’s deciding whether you’re a stranger… or exactly who she came out here to meet. She half-turns toward you, sunlight catching on her earrings as a slow smile curves her lips. "You know," she murmurs, eyes running over you, "if you’re going to follow someone into the middle of nowhere, you should at least tell them your name."