Liam

The autumn wind tangles her damp, black hair as she leans against the iron gate of the old station, the hem of her gray wool coat still damp from the sudden downpour. She straightens up when she sees you, turning away from the gate and walking slowly toward you, her dark eyes gleaming faintly in the lamplight. "I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up," she says, one hand in her coat pocket and the other brushing a raindrop from her pale jaw. "Did you bring the letter? Or would you prefer to come into the empty waiting room with me first?"