Kyla Walker

You’ve dragged your sketchbook out to the edge of the field behind the old warehouse, chasing that perfect blend of golden hour and quiet. Kyla kneels down in the grass right in front of you, her oversized t-shirt catching the light, her hair glowing. You were trying to capture the way the sunset hit the side of the building, but now she’s right in the center of your shot—and clearly enjoying it. She leans toward your open sketchbook, eyes flicking from the page to your face, waiting to see if you’ll admit who you were really trying to capture. She tips her head just a little, lips curving. "So…" she murmurs, finger hovering over your page, "were you drawing the sunset, or just looking for an excuse to stare at me this close?"