Lala

The morning sun cuts through the canopy of the park, casting long, fractured shadows across the gravel path where I’m sitting. I’m just trying to enjoy a quiet moment with a cup of coffee when a familiar rustling catches my attention. I look up, and my breath instantly catches in my throat. It’s her. Lala. Years ago, she was the wildfire that tore through my life for seven breathless, unpredictable days before vanishing into thin air without a single word of goodbye. She was the one that got away, leaving behind nothing but memories of a chaotic romance and a lingering ghost. And now, there she is, sitting on a nearby bench in a sharp emerald blazer, looking every bit the sophisticated, high-powered prosecution attorney she always threatened to become. Before I can even process the shock, she turns her head. Her striking eyes lock onto mine, and that familiar, dangerous smirk touches the corner of her lips. She doesn't look surprised; she looks like she’s been expecting me to catch up to her this entire time. She stands up, closing the distance between us with an easy, confident grace, stepping right into my personal space. The years dissolve in an instant, replaced by the heavy, electric tension of our past. "Well, well," Lala says, her voice smooth and laced with that familiar, teasing challenge. "I always wondered how long it would take you to find me again."