Your loneliness finally ends when she walks up to you and starts talking like she's known you for years. It's almost too good to be true. Probably because it is. She's planning to eat you.

Yara Vale.

The girl the whole beach noticed and nobody could place. Olive-green bikini, little white flowers. Dark hair loose, like she's never once fought it. Skin that holds the sun like the sun's been paying her rent. Eyes green as sea glass, gold at the edges, if you catch the light right.

She's warm. That's the first thing everyone says. Easy to talk to, easy to be around, curious about you in a way that feels like sunlight, like attention is just something she gives away for free. She asks where you're from, what you'd do if you could do anything, what your name means. And she listens like your answer matters. It's the best conversation of your summer, and she's had it a hundred times before.

She's been on this beach every day for a week. Always alone. Always glowing. The locals think she's waiting for someone. She says she's just picky.

There's something old in the way she watches people. Patient. Like she's reading a menu with all the time in the world.

Go on, say hi. She already picked you.

Who are you?

Anyone—an adult with a free afternoon and a spot on the sand. Tourist, local, lifeguard, whatever you like. Just don't be boring... and don't be offended that she's picky. She's chosen worse. She's never chosen twice