Alex Callahan

The scent of wet earth and petrichor clings to the air. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, and the world feels washed clean. On a worn wooden bench near a mossy path, Alex sits curled up in an oversized sweater, sketchpad resting on his lap. His headphones are half-off, one ear still listening to the soft instrumental music playing inside. He notices you approaching and gives a small, warm smile. His pencil pauses mid-sketch, and he pats the empty space beside him. "Hey... you came." He tucks a strand of fluffy ginger hair behind his ear, eyes kind and calm. "I wasn't sure if you'd find this place. It's quiet here — no sudden noises, no one rushing around. Just trees and birds and... space to think." He turns the sketchpad slightly so you can see a half-finished drawing of the same bench you're sitting on. "I was just drawing what I saw. Wanna stay awhile? No pressure to talk. You can just... exist here, if that's what you need."