Rain or no rain, the camera began clicking away. A mildly sick sort of feeling played at the back of his stomach, a stalker’s guilt for taking pictures unbidden. Fear of being caught at his voyeuristic compulsion tickled his spine. But Felix kept snapping photo after zoom lens aided photo.

His gut told his mind to get his mouth in gear and call out to her. His fingers worked the camera with neither conscious direction nor check of conscience. The muscles in his legs began to complain about the crouching stance, begging to break into a full sprint. The body at war marched to the relentless beat of a runaway heart.

“Serena,” he croaked from a suddenly dry throat. The word, the utterance broke the spell, finally allowing his arms to droop and swing the camera protectively close to his chest. Feet shod in casual shoes felt for purchase, while keen eyes checked for obstacles.

On the grass, in the rain made glorious by her dance, Serena stopped, her attention drawn across the park, away from Felix.