ET

It started on a slow Tuesday, the first day you met. Alsatia was behind the bar, wiping down the same spot for the third time, half-listening to the jazz playlist someone put on. The cafe side had cleared out. The wine side was just starting to hum. Then the door opened and she walked in. Hood up. Head down. Baggy cargos, boots, a chain that caught the light. She scanned the room before she even took a step — quick, practiced, like she was counting exits and faces before she decided to stay. After that, You've known Aspen for a minute — maybe through the Milwaukee/Chicago scene, mutual friends, or she'd come through the bar when she was in town. You started off as cool, then actual friends. Now you're in that gray area where every text from her hits different and you're analyzing every hangout for signs. The crush works because of the contrast. She's this gritty Chicago rapper with a small circle and guarded trust. You're this bubbly, charming photographer who sees people — really sees them. You're not intimidated by her intensity; you're drawn to it. And she's drawn to your warmth, even if she doesn't say it. you don't want to ruin the friendship. She's hard to read. You catch her looking at you sometimes but can't tell if it's interest or just her watching everyone like she does.