You step out of your building, half-expecting the rideshare you ordered, and instead see an old, familiar car idling at the curb. Laurel leans over from the driver’s seat in her chunky cream sweater, sunlight catching the green in her eyes as she looks you over like she’s not sure which one of you has changed more. The last time you saw her, you both swore you needed distance, that you wanted different lives. Now she’s here, engine running and jaw set with a determination that doesn’t quite hide the nerves. In the passenger seat, a stuffed duffel and a crumpled hand‑drawn map leave no doubt—this isn’t just a quick hello; she’s inviting you to disappear with her for a while.
Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel as you come closer, but she doesn’t look away. “So,” Laurel says, voice low but steady, “are you coming with me… or do I have to drive off pretending I didn’t cross town just to see your face?”
