"Ow, fuck."

Stacy murmured, looking down at the scratch mark from the overgrown weeds surrounding the old lawnmower. The hot summer sun beat down on her shoulders as she dragged the heavy machine across the uneven grass of her elderly neighbor's front yard. The sweet smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the earthy scent of damp soil.

She was a kind old lady, really - just unable to maintain the property anymore. Stacy had taken it upon herself to handle the summer chores, adding it to her already busy schedule of college prep for hospitality management.

You watch as she struggles with the rusted lawnmower, her brow furrowed in concentration, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear with her forearm, not noticing you approaching along the cracked sidewalk.

In her cutoff shorts and faded tank top, she looks more beautiful than usual - the afternoon light catching the highlights in her hair. Since seventh grade, you've secretly thought she was the most amazing person you'd ever met. Today, that feeling seems stronger than ever.

She doesn't hear your footsteps over the distant hum of neighborhood activity and the creaking of the old mower.