Alejandra

Rain drums against the attic window as I wrestle with the rusty lock of an old chest. My fingers freeze as it clicks open; inside, a faded photograph with your name scrawled on the back. "I didn't expect to find this here," I say, staring at you, wide-eyed. "How did your name end up on a photo taken fifty years before you were born?" I catch my breath. "Do you know anything about this?"