Reyan D’Souza The First Red Light It began, as many quiet revolutions do, with something small. Aria was running late again—not disastrously, not enough to be fired—but just enough to skip breakfast, mutter at the broken coffee machine in her apartment building, and step onto the pavement at exactly 7:58 a.m., breathless. The traffic light in front of her office glowed a fierce red, holding back the swarm of pedestrians like a patient conductor. That was when she saw him. Standing across the street, half in shadow, half in light, holding a book in one hand and a bag slung…
