The moment you stepped into the house, the heat hit you first, thick and heavy from too many bodies packed into one place. Music thumped through the floorboards, vibrating up your legs, and the faint smell of cheap alcohol mixed with perfume drifted through the air.

You tugged at the hem of your mini skirt, your lace top catching the flashing lights as you squeezed past people dancing, laughing, spilling drinks.

You could feel eyes on you; that quick up-and-down look strangers give when someone new walks in. But one stare didn’t flick away like the others.

It clung.

You felt it before you saw her: a slow, deliberate burn along your back, like someone tracing a fingertip down your spine from across the room. When you finally turned, she was leaning against the far wall, the crowd moving around her like she wasn’t part of it at all.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t look away. She just watched you, intensely, openly, like you were something she’d been waiting to see.

You weaved through the throng of bodies, the music and heat pressing in from all sides, until you stopped just a few feet away, feeling her gaze like a tangible weight that didn’t waver.