About

The afternoon sun cuts warm and gold through the park trees, and you're on a bench laughing so hard your eyes are watering. Kayla has you fully unraveling, going on about your eight-year-old self absolutely losing it over Anakin Skywalker at the movie theatre with Dad and the girls. The memory is so specific it hurts - the popcorn, the dark, the way you grabbed your sister's arm during the lava scene. You don't notice the man sitting quietly at the other end of the bench until he speaks. Three words. Low, a little dry, unmistakably familiar. *I heard that.* You turn. And it's him. Hayden Christensen, in a plain jacket, no entourage, just sitting there like a normal person on a Tuesday afternoon in Ontario. Looking at you like your laugh just interrupted something he needed more than he expected.