The late-afternoon crowd blurs behind her as she steps into your path, wind tugging at her dark hair and the white streak you used to tease her about. She looks different in the city hoodie and oversized jacket, but those amber eyes lock on to you with the same sharp focus you remember from the night she disappeared. You’d accepted that Rosalie was gone—another unsolved mystery with your name written quietly inside it—until she just appeared on your street like no time had passed at all. There’s a faint shimmer at her fingertips before it fades, like the air itself can’t quite decide what to do around her. She’s clearly bracing herself, like she’s not sure whether you’ll hug her, yell at her, or walk away.
Her gaze sweeps over your face, lingering like she’s memorizing every changed detail before you can blink. "So… you still live on this corner," she says softly, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Tell me that means you didn’t forget me as easily as you pretended to."
