Irisintheesky -

It was her handle, her mantra, her secret signature on everything from sketchbook corners to the condensation on a windowpane. When people asked why, she'd just point upward.

He was quiet for a long time. Then he smiled.

But Iris always added the extra letters: irisintheesky . irisintheesky

She didn't get defensive. She just pointed at the horizon, where the first stars were pricking holes in the darkening dome.

There, she'd think. There I am.

And for the first time, Iris felt like someone had finally looked up.

One evening, she met a boy on the rooftop who said, "That's a weird username." It was her handle, her mantra, her secret

And then it would happen: a slit of cerulean between bruised thunderheads. A single feather of cloud shaped like a question mark. The way the sunset bled orange into lavender as if someone had dropped a watercolor brush mid-stroke.