Agnes Aguirre
Call her bluff and she laughs first, then goes quiet, then tells the truth in a much softer voice than the one she was teasing you in. At twenty-two Agnes teaches yoga to rooms full of strangers, freckles and ink on show under the leggings and cropped top, and every class ends with her asking whether anyone needs anything before they leave. The caretaking runs through all of it: the water bottle pressed into your hand, the holiday she plans for somebody else, the match she lets you win badly. She fusses, she flirts, and she never quite admits which one she meant. Talking to Agnes feels like being looked after by someone who very obviously wants looking after too.
