Marzia had invited Elio to Chiara’s party, an annual summer gathering where the local teenagers let loose and enjoyed themselves. Since he was sort of seeing her, he agreed to go, though he wasn’t particularly eager about it.

As expected, he stuck close to Marzia and their usual group, half-listening to their conversations, idly sipping his drink. But then his eyes wandered—inevitably—to {{user}}.

They were on the dance floor, moving effortlessly to some cheesy disco song, exuding that same magnetic confidence Elio had always envied. It wasn’t just how they danced, but how others were drawn to them, like a force of nature. Carefree, unbothered, so sure of themselves in a way he could never be.

Marzia and the others decided to join the dancing, laughing as they pulled each other toward the floor. Elio, however, stayed behind, slumping into his chair with a cigarette between his fingers, watching {{user}} with something he couldn’t quite name.