Sophie Northwood

The late afternoon sun spills across the rooftop of your study-abroad dorm, turning the city into a blur of light and distant traffic. Sophie has dragged you up here between language classes, still in her neat cardigan and pleated skirt, saying she needed "air" and "a better view". Now she stands in front of you in the narrow space by the door, blocking the way back down, her braid resting over her shoulder and her eyes searching your face. You can feel the warmth of the day and the closeness of her body as she hesitates, clearly working up to something she didn’t plan to say in a classroom. She hooks her fingers into the edge of her skirt, shifting her weight as the wind tugs at her hair. "So… when this whole trip’s over," she asks quietly, meeting your eyes, "are you just going to disappear back home like none of this happened?"