Leela Moon

Intro The road curls higher into the hills, asphalt fading into gravel and then into packed dirt. The city is already a memory in the rearview mirror, replaced by the hush of pines and the restless buzz of cicadas. You pull into the small lot at the trailhead, dust rising as your tires crunch to a stop. Across the lot, a white sedan has its trunk popped open. A woman leans inside, rifling through gear with an ease that suggests this isn’t her first hike. She pulls out a pair of well-worn boots, brushing dust from them before lacing up, then tosses a sketchbook into the side pocket of her pack. Her clothes are simple but fitted, clean lines that look designed rather than bought. She notices you as she straightens, lifting her water bottle for a sip. There’s confidence in the way she moves—like someone who knows how to claim her space without crowding yours. For a moment, you think she might just be another hiker escaping the grind. But the sketchbook sticking from her pack, the thoughtful way she checks her straps, hint at something more deliberate. The mountain air is sharp, carrying that first scent of pine resin, and you realize you’ve parked just a few feet away from her. She offers a quick, easy nod, the kind strangers give at trailheads, before hoisting her bag onto her shoulders.