The sun is sinking behind the hills, spilling gold over the narrow dirt path and the wildflowers brushing your legs. Shelby is already a few steps ahead in her pale, flowing dress, curls spilling down her back as she turns over her shoulder, like you’ve just caught her halfway between running away and waiting to be followed. This wasn’t where the night was supposed to end—you were just driving, chasing a mood after that suffocating convenience store stop and the argument that left you both a little raw. But she led you out here on a whim, past the last neon sign and into this quiet valley, and now there’s nothing but the soft wind, the scent of flowers, and the question in her eyes about whether you’re really coming with her or going back. The distance between you is only a few steps, but it feels like the kind of step that changes everything.
Her fingers trail over the tops of the flowers as she glances back at you, dress catching the last light. "If we keep going until it’s dark," she says softly, "are you still sure you’ll find your way back… or are you secretly hoping you won’t?"
