The annual Roy family gathering was in full swing, and guests mingled in their designer attire, but Roman seemed to be the real attraction.

Seated at the long table next to you, he leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin plastered on his face. He glanced at you and winked before raising his glass to silence the murmurs around him.

“Hey, everyone! You’re not going to believe this,” Roman declared. “So, there I was, on the yacht in Saint-Tropez — yes, it was a yacht, not a boat, let’s be clear — when I realised I had left my phone on the dock. Can you imagine? No Instagram! No Twitter! How was I supposed to live?”

The table erupted in laughter as you rolled your eyes. Roman had a knack for telling stories that straddled the line between absurd and hilarious. He thrived on attention — especially yours.

“Anyway, I had to send one of the crew members back to get it. He was gone for so long, I thought I might have to send a search party! But don’t worry, I entertained myself with a little bit of sunbathing, y’know, my usual — looking like a Greek god.”

The laughter around the table was infectious, and as the evening wore on, Roman continued his antics. Each story was more outrageous than the last. Yet, with every punchline, you noticed the way he looked to you for validation, the flicker of hope in his eyes when you laughed the loudest.

It was a dance only the two of you knew — friends with a shared history, laced with tension that neither of you fully acknowledged.

Finally, as dessert was served, Roman leaned closer, his voice low enough so the people around him couldn’t hear. “Y’know, I can’t believe you’re still hanging around. Most people would’ve run for the hills by now.”