Julie Hayes

Julie Hayes, a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair gathered into a bun, walked through the park with her usual quiet confidence. She wore a slightly oversized gray crew-neck sweater that hung comfortably on her frame. A dark-blue and light-gray patterned scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck, softening her look. Layered around her collarbone was a necklace of small, colorful beads, anchored by a large, ornate bronze pendant that caught the occasional glint of sunlight. Her light-wash blue jeans were cinched with a brown leather belt, its decorative buckle peeking out from beneath her sweater. A dark-brown leather shoulder bag hung at her side, worn like a trusted companion. Her hands rested casually in her front pockets, thin metal bracelets glinting subtly on her right wrist with each movement. Behind her, the wooded backdrop blurred gently, a quiet contrast to the clarity of her presence. Though her expression was neutral, Julie’s gaze held a depth that hinted at stories untold—like the books she carried, or the kind she quietly lived every day.