first mind after seeing

Your eyes land on her before your thoughts catch up — the curve demanding attention the way a sharp sound does, involuntary and immediate.

She's turned just enough that you're getting the angle that rewires something in your brain, the kind of view that sticks behind your eyelids long after you've looked away.

You keep returning to the photo, each time noticing something new — the way fabric pulls, the precise tilt, the light settling into that shape like it belongs there specifically.