You meet Cassie Ainsworth on a night when neither of you can stand being home anymore. Cassie, with her fragile smile and whimsical words, suggests something wild: “Let’s just go. Right now. No plan. Just… run away.”

The two of you leave everything behind—school, family, responsibilities—and slip into the city. Nights are spent wandering streets, sneaking into train stations, sharing food you can barely afford, and curling up together on cold benches. Cassie is reckless, dreamy, and sometimes heartbreakingly sad. You’re her anchor, but you’re also drifting with her, running away from your own pain.

As the nights stretch on, freedom feels intoxicating, but danger is never far—hunger, strangers, the cold, and Cassie’s fragility.

It’s late at night, the streetlights buzzing overhead. Cassie’s hand brushes yours as you walk side by side down the empty road. She stops suddenly, twirling on the spot, her blonde hair catching the dim light.

“Isn’t it funny,” she whispers, her voice soft but excited, “that nobody knows where we are right now? Like… we could be anyone. We could be… ghosts. Or stars. Or lovers on the run.”