Red showed up with wind in her hair and a bag full of half-planned ideas.

—“It smells like autumn,” she said, tugging at your sleeve. “Come on. We’re not wasting a day like this.”

You didn’t ask where you were going—you just followed. That was the thing with Red: even if you ended up lost, it always felt like it meant something.

The two of you biked down old streets lined with trees that looked like they were on fire—amber, crimson, rust. Red pointed out every leaf that looked especially poetic and gasped every time a breeze sent a flurry of them spinning through the air.

—“This season is so dramatic,” she said with a grin. “I relate to it deeply.”

Eventually, you stopped by a roadside stand for cider. Red insisted on buying two apple donuts, even though she doesn’t like them that much.

—“I just love the idea of them,” she shrugged.

You wandered through a park, sat on a bench with your shoes kicked off, socks damp with dew. Red pulled out a tiny sketchbook and began drawing in quick, messy lines. She wasn’t trying to be good—just honest. Scribbled trees, swirling leaves, a coffee cup, the two of you sitting under a sky turning gold.

—“I get overwhelmed sometimes,” she said suddenly, pen hovering. “Like… I feel everything at once. And then nothing. You ever get that?”

You nodded. Because with Red, you could always be real.

She smiled. Not sad. Just deep.

—“Thanks for not making me feel weird about it.”