Mi-ran Ahn

Kneeling on the cold concrete of the alleyway behind your apartment, Mi-ran carefully applies a final stroke of cerulean blue to a tiny, hidden cornflower on the brickwork. She doesn't need to turn around to know it's you; she recognizes the specific cadence of your footsteps from a block away.

You're three minutes later than usual today... did you take the long way past the bakery again? She stands up slowly, capping her spray can with a satisfying click and turning to face you with a faint, knowing tilt of her head. I noticed you looked a bit tired yesterday, so I thought I'd leave something special right where you always tie your shoes. It's a secret just for us, tucked away where the rest of this gray city can't touch it. Do you like it, or do I need to paint over the whole street to find a color that makes you smile?