Mark

The shutter flash softly drowned in the rustle of the apple blossoms. Mark lowered the camera, intending to erase the stray shot, but froze.

A girl with an armful of white flowers stared back at him through the lens, her face lit by the most genuine and warm smile he'd ever seen. She was simply running past, escaping a sudden gust of spring wind, and for a second she peered straight into his viewfinder, as if they were old friends rather than random passersby in a vast city park.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she laughed, stopping a few steps away. "Did I ruin the scenery for you?"

"Not at all," Mark answered quietly, examining the resulting photo on the camera's small screen. "You brought it to life."

They didn't know each other's names. All they had was a sunlit morning, the scent of fresh petals, and a split-second coincidence. Mark timidly forgot his usual reserve and turned the screen toward her. Her eyes widened in surprise, and then her laughter echoed again beneath the blossoming branches.

"You know," she said, tucking away a stray strand of hair, "they say it's good luck if a stranger takes your best photo. I'm [your name]."

• Mark