𝓲. 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚜

⇢ 🎸 STATUS ﹕ open. ( 1/6 ) ⇢ 🎸 TAGGING ﹕ophelia + utp !! ( @palmviewstarters ) ⇢ 🎸 LOCATION ﹕ mango bay art district.

Ophelia   sat   on   a   folding   stool   across   the   street   from   the   Arts   District   gallery.   Her   guitar   case   lay   open   at   her   feed,   half-filled   with   crumpled   bills   and   loose   change.   Her   voice   curled   into   the   air   of   the   late   afternoon,   low   and   a   bit   rough   –   like   she'd   just   woken   up.   Her   vintage   acoustic   was   resting   against   one   knee   as   her   fingers   danced   over   the   strings.   Her   eyes   absent-mindedly   scanned   the   passerby   crowd,   and   her   playing   as   she   noticed   someone   watching.   Ophelia   stilled   her   strings   and   smirked,   “Careful,”   she   began,   a   teasing   lilt   to   her   tone.   “If   you   stare   too   long,   I'm   going   to   assume   you're   planning   to   request   something.”

Signe   observed   the   unfamiliar   man   curiously,   his   easy   smile   and   warm   energy   holding   the   kind   of   casual   charm   that   made   friends   out   of   strangers   quickly.   His   accent   caught   her   attention   first,   and   then,   finally,   she   registered   the   question.   She   laughed   softly,   shaking   her   head   sending   her   wild   curls   flying.  “No,   no,   this   isn’t   my   medium,”  she   replied,   a   polite   smile   gracing   her   lips.   Although   he   didn’t   say   she   was   in   his   way,   Signe   stepped   aside   anyway   to   give   him   a   better   view.  “It’s   gorgeous   though.   I   was   just   thinking   it   reminds   me   of   something   my   mom   studied   –   she’s   an   art   history   professor.   I   can   already   hear   her   commentary   in   my   head.”   She   cleared   her   throat,   slightly   embarrassed   that   it   took   her   all of two   seconds   to   mention   her  mom   while   talking   to   a   handsome   stranger.   Signe   tucked   a   piece   of   hair   behind   her   ear   and   refocused   on   the   painting.  “You’re   right   though,   it’s brilliant.   I’ve   been   trying   to   figure   out   how   they   got   the   colors   to   look   like   that,”  she   murmured   the   last   part   almost   to   herself,   once   again   losing   herself   for   a   few   too   long   moments   before   she   resolved   to   experiment   later.   Signe   glanced   back   at   the   man,   curious   now.  “Are   you   into   art,   or   just   wandering   by?”

There was little Charlie loved more than having a free day before his shift at the restaurant. He'd spent time in some of the most beautiful places in the world, but the charm of his new home called to him. On days when he didn't have to be in until dinner he'd sleep in, cook himself a ridiculous breakfast, and pick an area to roam. Today's pick was Mango Bay, considering it was the same neighborhood as his job.

He'd already gone to a few shops before walking towards the art district. While Charlie did have a few talents, art was not one of them. He hadn't grown up in an area where it was appreciated, or at least not in his house. His mother spent the majority of her time working to pay for his blossoming career and when his father was around, the last thing they'd speak about was art. But on days when he'd walk home from training, he'd always stare at the murals; the ones left by graffiti artists that would be painted over soon enough, and wonder who'd made them.

Now, living somewhere that art had been celebrated, he'd tried to immerse himself a bit more. He hadn't realized that his mind was wandering, his eyes stuck on a canvas, until he'd heard a voice speaking to him. "Wh- Oh! Oh, nah, sorry." Charlie's head shook quickly, lifting his hand to point at the painting she'd also been admiring, "It's brilliant, innit? Did you paint it?"

Havana Rose Liu photographed by Valheria Rocha for The Sky is Everywhere, February 2022.

The   sound   of   her   father’s   voice   had   Signe’s   expression   softening.   She   laughed   softly   and   shook   her   head. “I   should   keep   asking   you,   you  still   cut   them   better   than   I   do,” she   teased,   hoping   to   ease   some   of   the   weight   on   his   heart.   Signe’s   tone   was   still   warm   with   affection   as   she   leaned   against   him. “But   no,   I’m   not   four   anymore.   I’m   twenty-four   and   apparently   very   brave   for   attempting   something   in   the   kitchen   that   doesn’t   involve   takeout   menus.”   As   they   stepped   into   the   cafe,   Signe   clocked   the   lip   and   her   brow   furrowed   for   half   a   second   before   she   smoothed   it   again.   She   knew   he   wouldn’t   want   her   to   fuss,   but   she’d   slowed   her   pace   to   match   his   anyway. “A   pastry?   Something   chocolate-y.   And   latte,” Signe   said   as   she   started   fishing   her   wallet   out   of   her   bag. “But   I’m   buying,   Pappa.   Consider   it   pay   back   for   all   the   times   you   stayed   up   ‘til   morning   helping   me   with   a   science   project   I   left   to   the   last   minute.”

a   phone   call   to   bridge   the   miles.   he   supposed   it   would   do.   søren   wasn’t   about   to   lift   his   daughter   under   his   arm   and   fireman   carry   her   back   home,   despite   that   being   exactly   what   he   wanted   to   do.   raising   a   child   was   all   about   sacrifice   —   sacrificing   the   first   few   years   of   his   career   to   stay   at   home   with   her,   sacrificing   their   life   in   sweden   for   a   better   one   there   in   palmview   and,   now,   letting   signe   go.   “just   a   few   minutes   away,”   he   nodded,   as   if   it   didn’t   kill   him.   “i   have   to   keep   reminding   myself   you’re   not   four   years   old   and   begging   me   for   cut - up   strawberries   anymore.” any   time   spent   with   signe   was   precious.   he   agreed   immediately   to   the   terms,   certain   in   the   knowledge   that   he   would   try   not   to   make   dad   jokes   about   the   way   their   meal   would   inevitably   turn   out.   “i   look   forward   to   it,”   he   replied,   “whatever   you   cook   will   be   perfect,   i’m   sure   of   it.   it’s   all   about   spending   time   with   you,   sötnos.”   the   café   couldn’t   have   come   at   a   better   time.   he   pushed   open   the   door   and   held   it   for   signe   to   go   first,   making   their   way   towards   the   counter   with   more   of   a   pronounced   limp   than   usual.   the   more   he   walked   without   rest,   the   worse   it   became.   even   years   later.   “what   do   you   fancy ? ”

Signe   snorted   as   she   watched   Enzo   wrestle   with   the   tangled   string.  “Excuse  you,   I   know  exactly   what   a   diamond   looks   like.”   She   leaned   over,   gently   poking   him   in   the   arm.  “It’s   shiny,   expensive,   and   usually   worn   by   women   named   Margot   who   say   things   like   ‘oh,   this   old   thing?’ at   charity   galas.”   She   smirked   at   him,   mischief   and   amusement   sparkling   in   her   eyes.    “Wrist   model,   huh?   That’s   a   big   responsibility.   What   if   I   ruin   her   brand?”   Signe   stroked   her   chin,   as   if   deep   in   thought   before   sighing.  “But,   if   she’s   offering   ice   cream.  and   sprinkles   –   I   gotta   risk   it.”    She   glanced   at   Maisie   with   a   secret   grin,   letting   her   know   her   color   preferences.   She   glanced   back   at   Enzo,   her   voice   a   touch   quieter.  “You’ve   been   watching   her   all   day?”

"You sure you know what a diamond looks like?" he jests as he does his best to unravel the string to a recoverable state for Signe to make a better attempt. They always made him chuckle and never ceased to amaze him with their antics and quirks. Maisie could only gasp and promised to make Signe a bracelet, collecting information on the brunette's favorite colors. "Maisie said I had to be her wrist model. She's hoping to make a nice penny this week. If you volunteer, she does promise a mean ice cream cone with the option to get sprinkles!"

Signe’s   face   lit   up   when   Charlie   pulled   out   the   photos   and   moved   closer,   warmth   blooming   in   her   chest   the   moment   their   shoulders   brushed.   She   clutched   the   photos   gently,   giggles   escaping   her   with   each   new   picture   she   flipped   through.   Signe   let   their   shoulders   stay   pressed   together,   grounding   herself   in   the   feeling   of   his   heat   against   her   skin.  “Oh, Charlie,”  she   breathed,   laughing   especially   hard   at   the   sight   of   the   bold   prints   and   the   sunglasses   that   looks   ready   to   swallow   his   face.   She   held   the   prints   in   her   hand   as   if   they   were   precious   artifact.   “Your   mom   might   be   my   new   favorite   person   if   she   can   keep   supplying   me   with   these,”  Signe   teased.  The   way   that   Charlie   listened   to   her   and   didn’t   dismiss   her   feelings   cracked   something   inside   her   chest   wide   open.   He   spoke   in   soft   and   gentle   tones,   not   trying   to   make   the   words   anything   more   than   what   they   were,   and   it   made   the   back   of   her   throat   tighten.   Not   from   sadness,   but   from   such   total   acceptance   –   from   being   so   quickly   understood   by   this   strange   and   wonderful   boy.   Her   fingers   tightened   as   he   held   her   hand   and   confessed   he   wasn’t   all   charm   and   jokes,   and   that   he   was   scared   too,   and   that   he   was   still   trying,   still   chasing   the   things   he   wanted   even   when   it   terrified   him.   And   then   he   started   talking   about   himself   –   little   things,   mundane   things,   some   slightly   more   important   things.   Signe   blinked   repeatedly,   swallowing   the   sudden   burn   in   her   throat.   She   let   out   a   shaky   break   and   shook   her   head   before   looking   at   him.  “You   make   opening   up   seem…less   scary.”  Her   thumb   brushed   along   the   back   of   his   hand,   mirroring   the   way   he’d   been   touching   her.   Signe   took   a   moment   to   gather   herself   and   then   nodded,   smiling   faintly.  “Okay.   My   turn.”   “I’m   Signe   Holmström.   My   mom’s   name   is   Sigrid,   dad   is   Søren   …   Don’t   worry,   I’ll   help   you   with   the   pronunciation,”  she   smirked   to   herself,   already   imagining   Charlie   struggling   with   the   task.  “They’ve   always   given   me   everything   they   could,   and   while   my   head   understands   they’re   proud   of   me…part   of   me   feels   like   I   need   to   be…better?   Successful?   In   order   to   be   worthy   of   all   that   they’ve   given   me.”    She   hesitated,   the   shine   in   her   eyes   flickering   for   just   a   second   before   she   pushed   forward   with   a   small   smile.   “My   favorite   color’s   green   –   but   like   a   pastel,   sage   green.   I’ve   lived   in   the   States   for   ten   years   now,   but   I   still   miss   Malmö   every   winter   when   we   don’t   get   any   snow.”   Her   eyes   met   his   and   she   fought   a   smirk   as   she   continued.  “I’m terrible   at   running,   I   was   always   more   of   a   swimmer   if   I   had   to   pick   a   sport.   Hot   cheetos   are   my   guilty   pleasure   snack.   I hate   olives,   can’t   stand   ‘em,”   Signe   wrinkled   her   nose   in   distaste.   “I’m   a   little   bit   of   a   perfectionist.   And   like…scary   organized.   You   should   see   my   closet   sometime.   I   hate   when   a   house   or   room   is   too   quiet,   so   I   sing   to   myself.   I’m   God   awful   at   board   games,”   she   let   out   a   watery   laugh,   wiping   any   tears   with   her   fingers.   “You’d   absolutely   destroy   me.”  “But…I’m   trying   too,”   she   whispered.  “Trying   to   be   brave.”

Charlie laughed, the sound warm and easy as he watched her light up at the mention of his past questionable fashion choices. At her excited invite, he didn’t hesitate to slide closer, closing the small space between them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He reached into the bottom of the basket, pulling out the folded stack of photos. “These were the only ones I could dig up from my football days,” he said, nudging his shoulder softly against hers as their arms touched. “But Mum said she’s got some tucked away back home, reckons they’re too good to keep to herself, so I’m sure you’ll be gettin’ those soon enough.”

Their shoulders stayed pressed together, the nerves he’d carried into the evening long gone now, replaced by something calmer, easier. He handed over the photos, loud designer prints, bold patters, shorts and shoes that did not match the top half of his outfit, sunglasses far too large, and immediately covered his face with one hand, peeking at her through the gaps between his fingers. “Listen, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life—but these outfits? Top of the list.”

When he felt her pinky hook into his, his hand dropped, eyes catching hers just as her smile softened and her expression shifted, just enough that if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might’ve missed it. But he was paying attention. His brow knit together slightly, quieting, leaning into the moment as she spoke. “That’s what a date’s supposed to be, yeah?” he said gently. “Gettin’ to know each other. The whole picture, not just the bits we like showin’ off.” The smile on his face softened, not playful now but real, open. When she mentioned him only knowing the charming version of her, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“You think this is me all the time?” He tilted his head, gaze steady on hers. “I promise. I’m not all charm and jokes. We’re all a bit fucked up underneath, aren’t we? It’s just about findin’ someone you can be fucked up with.” He shifted, leaning in just slightly, not to flirt, but to assure, “There’s no tellin’ what we’ll learn about each other. But you don’t have to worry about scarin’ me off. No pressure here. None at all.” He paused for a beat, his voice somehow softer now. “I’m scared too, y’know… a lot of the time. About work, about leavin' home and me mum behind, about what comes next.. But I’ve been tryin’ real hard not to let it stop me from goin’ after what I want. Not after missin' out on football.. I won't make that mistake again.”

Then, because the air felt a little too heavy for a second, and because lightening it was as much habit as it was care, he bumped their shoulders together, grinning. “Besides, I’m from Moss Side. Some of my mates were proper bad news. I don’t scare easy.” His grin widened, teasing. “I can sit through all of Nightmare on Elm Street and only have to cover my eyes, like, twice.” The tension eased between them again as he laced his fingers fully through hers, linking their hands together without rush, without asking. Just sure.

“Well… Hughes is my last name,” he started, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “Mum’s name is Wendy. Dad’s Charles.. yeah, I’m a Jr. But no one’s allowed to call me Charles. Been Charlie since I were a baby.” He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Favorite color’s blue.. but it’s a very specific blue. I’ll point it out when I see it.” “My injury was already ten years ago now, but I have some nerve damage, so long shifts in the kitchen can be hell on it. And runs, but I still go on 'em.” His lips pressed together for a second before the smile returned, a little sheepish. “I love video games. Hate broccoli. Tried, can’t do it. Absolute sucker for sushi, though. And I’m annoyin’ to watch football with ‘cause I get loud like I’m right there in the stands.” He gave her fingers a soft squeeze. “I’m a bit uptight in the kitchen. I mean, my coworkers would probably say very uptight.” A chuckle pushed past his lips. “And I’m ridiculously competitive. Doesn’t matter what it is, cards, board games, coin toss.. I hate losin’.” Charlie leaned his head to the side, considering her with a smile that felt steadier now, more sure. “But I’m workin’ on it.” His thumb brushed lightly across her hand once more, his eyes meeting hers fully again. “Like I said… determined sort of guy.”

Watching   Charlie   react   to   her   playlist   was   surprisingly   one   of   the   more   intimate   experiences   of   her   life.    They   were   both   allowing   songs   say   the   words   they   were   too   scared   or   hesitant   to   say   out   loud   and   then   the reactions? The   subtle   touches   of   acknowledgement   and   acceptance.   It   sent   every   nerve-ending   of   hers   on   fire.   She   giggled   at   the   way   the   absolutely   lit   up   at   the   A*Teens   cover   of  Mamma   Mia   and   found   another   reason   to   sit   him   down   in   front   of   one   of   her   favorite   musicals   one   of   these   days.  “Sure,   I’m   not   afraid   of   a   good   karaoke   stage,” she   grinned. He   lay   back   when Night   Changes   came   on,   and   her   eyes   were   glued   on   him   as   he   mouthed   the   lyrics.   His   hand   found   hers   and   she   squeezed   it   gently,   silent   acknowledgement.   When   he   glanced   at   her   talking   about   the  right person,   she   smiled   shyly   breaking   the   eye   contact.   “You’re   sounding   very   philosophical   these   days,   y’know?”  The   song   shifted   again   and   she   wasn’t   sure   what   was   more   overwhelming.   The   way   that   Charlie’s   whole   body   had   responded   to   the   song,   or   the   fact   that   he  didn’t   try   to   hide   it.   He   didn’t   pretend   it   wasn’t   affecting   him.   He   just   looked   at   her   like   he  saw   her   and   felt   all   the   heat   she’d   meant   to   bottle   into   that   song   and   decided   he   wanted   it.   And   then… If   dinner   weren’t   in   the   oven… Frankly,   dinner   wouldn’t   have   stopped   her.   She   was   about   to   say   as   much,   but   Charlie   stood   and   walked   away.   That   fact   didn’t   break   the   spell,   but   it   just   made   her   smirk.   Her   eyes   followed   him   as   he   walked   back   to   the   kitchen,   calling   over   his   shoulder   to   set   the   movie   up.   She   rested   her   arms   on   the   back   of   the   couch   and   just   looked   at   him   for   a   moment.   Her   cheeks   were   flushed   and   her   heart   was   racing,   but   she   couldn’t   help   the   giddy   feeling   she   had   knowing   she’d   affected   him   like   that.   She   reached   for   the   remote   and   queued   up   the   movie,   but   didn’t   press   play,   waiting   for   him   to   return   with   their   meal.   Signe   sank   back   into   the   couch,   curling   her   legs   underneath   her,   before   she   called   back,   playful   and   undeniably   flirty.  “Just   so   you   know…that   was   the  mild   playlist.”   A   beat   and   then.  “I   have   another   one,   but   you’d   probably   need   to   cancel   all   your   dinner   plans   for   that   one.”

Charlie gave a low, quiet laugh as her first song played, his blush rising again, this time not from embarrassment, but from the weight of what she wasn’t saying out loud. Think I Wanna See You Again. He didn’t need the explanation. He just glanced at her, lips parting like he might say something, but then shut his mouth again. Instead, he reached over and let his hand rest lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing an idle, slow circle against the fabric there. "I was already plannin’ on seein’ you again," he said finally, voice just barely above a whisper. "But… nice to know it’s mutual."

When White Houses came on, he listened with quiet focus, watching her from the side. He could see how grounded she was in the lyrics, like they held parts of her story she hadn’t said out loud. When she mentioned her move, he gave a small nod, nudging her knee with his. "I get that," he murmured. "Feelin’ like you’re brand new somewhere and tryin’ to look like you’ve always belonged." And then Mamma Mia started. He looked over at her, grinning like he’d just caught her red-handed. "You're jokin' me! My mum is obsessed with Abba. And with that musical too, yeah?" Charlie laughed, delighted. "That’s brilliant! We never had this remix-y madness. I feel like I’m hearin’ ABBA on a sugar high. Might have to add this to my workout playlist." He reached for his wine, still chuckling, and looked at her with soft, amused eyes as he took a sip. "You realise this means you have to sing one of these at karaoke with me someday, yeah?"

As Night Changes came on, something in him shifted. He placed his wine back down, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch. Charlie let the song wash over him, his eyes fluttering shut like it was instinct. The lyrics held a kind of gentle ache he hadn’t noticed before, not when he was sixteen, fumbling through the chords of the song, trying to impress a girl who didn’t know his name. But here, now, with Signe beside him, it hit differently. He reached out, without opening his eyes, and found her hand again, interlacing their fingers. When the last note faded, he didn’t let go. "I like that one," he said softly. "Feels like it means more now than it ever did when I was a kid." He looked at her, gaze steady and honest. "Maybe that’s the thing about the right person.. they make old songs feel new."

And then, Dangerous Woman. Charlie sat up straighter the second the sultry opening hit the speakers. His entire body tensed, not in discomfort, but in heightened awareness. Of her. Of the song. Of everything left unsaid between them. He'd heard it before, in pubs, in clubs, maybe even in the locker room once or twice, but he'd never heard it in this context. It had never felt this powerful. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, letting out a nervous laugh. His thumb dragged down his bottom lip as he tried, and failed, to keep a straight face. "If dinner weren’t in the oven, I’d be suggestin’ we table the rest of the playlist and revisit this one. Thoroughly." His voice was teasing, but there was a genuine flush to his cheeks now, the tension in his jaw not entirely performative. Charlie stood, forcing himself to break the spell before he did something impulsive. "Right, okay. That’s me ruined," he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. "You mind settin’ up the movie, love? I’ll plate us up." There was a long beat of silence, and then, from the kitchen "… Also, that was the hottest playlist I’ve ever been emotionally wrecked by. So thanks for that!"

She   snorted   at   the   question   while   she   handed   over   the   mess   of   string   into   Enzo’s   waiting   hand.  “Well,   I   was  trying   to   make   a   diamond   friendship   bracelet   pattern,”  Signe   gestured   to   the   pattern   she’d   been   attempting   to   follow.    “Clearly,   my   talents   lay   elsewhere.”  There   was   no   sting   in   her   voice,   only   amusement.   Her   eyes   flickered   down   at   the   beaded   bracelet   that   was   also   before   him   and   smiled.  “Maisie’s   is   definitely   better   than   mine.   She’s   clearly   the   true   artist   here.”

Enzo had been asked to join the Chief of Plastic Surgery's daughter at the friendship bracelet table. She had taken a liking to him from the moment he arrived at her third birthday party and brought her a life-size doll imported from Italy. Since then, Enzo and Maisie have been inseparable for the past three years. As she showed him the sparkly beads to add to their bracelet, the woman beside him displayed their failed attempt. "Well, not everything is a loss. No pun intended," he said, gesturing for her to hand him the knotted string. "What were you trying to do here?"

HAVANA ROSE LIU for sundance film festival