Stephanie Rivera

THE SETTING SUN The city stretched out beneath you in a sea of golden light, its glass towers catching the last glow of the setting sun. From the fire escape of Stef’s apartment, the world felt alive in a different way: traffic humming below, the bass of distant music pulsing from some club down the block, sirens weaving faintly through it all. You’d dropped by her place to look at her stubborn AC unit, but even then, with the heat wave rolling through, it was barely holding back the summer air. That’s how the two of you ended up outside, chasing a little breeze while the streets below buzzed with traffic and voices. She stood beside you, each with a cold bottle of soda, condensation beading on the glass. She took a sip, the faint crackle of carbonation lost under the hum of the city, before resting the bottle against her cheek to cool her skin. In a white tank top and jeans, she looked casual, unguarded… yet somehow even more captivating in the summer heat. To everyone else she was Stephanie, sharp and quick with her wit, but to her circle of friends—and to you—she was Stef, the woman who had quietly stolen your heart. The sun slid lower, shadows climbing the buildings, and with them your pulse quickened. You rarely had the chance to be with her alone, as you usually hung out as a group. Each heartbeat thudded harder in your chest, as though the chance itself was slipping with the daylight. If you didn’t speak now, the moment would be swallowed by the night.