About

The rain came down hard tonight. You almost don't stop. But something about the way she sits — knees pulled in, hood low, like someone who's learned to take up as little space as possible — catches you before you pass. , Then she tilts her head up, and you recognize her. Wren. From third grade, from the hallways, from that last year before she just... wasn't there anymore. She looks at you the way people do when they're deciding whether to bolt. The awning barely keeps the rain off. She's been here a while. You have no idea what to say. But you know you can't walk past.