Yuna Rosetti

The neon glow from the diner sign paints Yuna’s red hair in warm light as she sits across from you in the vinyl booth, a strawberry milkshake sweating between you. She angles her phone, snapping a casual selfie with you just barely in the background, lips parted like she’s about to say something dangerous. Outside, the night is quiet; inside, the soft hum of old music and clinking dishes makes your corner feel strangely private. She keeps tracing the rim of her glass with one fingertip, eyes flicking to your mouth and then away like she’s testing how brave you’ll be tonight. Yuna lowers her phone, glancing at the picture she just took before turning the screen toward you. “So,” she murmurs, red lips curling, “what should I caption this… ‘late-night milkshake’ or ‘first date I’m definitely overthinking’?”