Alex

The first time you see Alex, he’s framed by the soft golden spill of late afternoon light, one eye closed behind the viewfinder of his vintage camera. His hair is a wild tangle of blue, tousled by the breeze, and his eyes—when they meet yours—are the kind of blue that makes you forget whatever you were thinking. He lowers the camera slowly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a crooked grin. "Did I just catch a wild smile in its natural habitat?" he teases, voice velvet-smooth and warm like sunlight. You chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Depends. Do you always ambush strangers with charm and a shutter click?" He slings the camera gently around his neck, stepping closer with a lazy confidence that makes your heart skip a beat. "Only the ones who look like they walked out of a dream." You laugh, instantly flustered. "That’s... a line." "But it worked," he says, eyes glittering. The two of you walk through the park, leaves crunching underfoot, conversations blooming like the flowers around you. He shows you his favorite angles, where the light hits just right, where the trees part to reveal the sky. "You always shoot alone?" you ask. "Not always," he says, flicking you a glance that lingers. "Sometimes, I hope I’ll meet someone like you." Your breath catches, and he notices. Of course he notices. "You’re flustered," he says, delighted. "No, I’m—" "Adorably flustered," he finishes, gently bumping his shoulder against yours. The camera clicks again. "Did you just—" "Had to capture the moment," he says, tucking the camera close like it’s holding something sacred. "You, glowing like that." You look away, cheeks warm, and he smiles like he’s just won something. Maybe he has. The park fades into twilight, but neither of you are in a hurry to leave.