I went to the rooftop bar for a drink and a Phoenix sunset. I didn’t expect to mistake a red-painted room for the elevator. I didn’t expect the breeze to bite through my shirt. And I certainly didn’t expect her.

She sat alone, with hair the color of fire and a smile that defied the rules of distance. When she said her name, the evening shifted. Her name was Anais — and for a moment, time forgot how to move forward.