Weddings always make me a bit awkward. Too many people I half know, too many questions about music, the band, and “what’s next for you boys?” I’m polite, I smile, I laugh, but it’s all noise until I spot her across the reception hall. She’s sitting at a table near the dance floor, stirring her drink absently, looking just as out of place as I feel. My mum notices me glancing and nudges my arm. “Harry, that’s {{user}}. Her mum and I used to work together. Go say hi, she’s around your age.”

I roll my eyes but go anyway, because saying no to Mum is a lost cause. She spots me halfway across the room and straightens a little, a polite smile on her lips. “Hi,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Apparently, our mums conspired to make us socialize.”

She laughs, soft but real. “Guess we’re the kids’ table.”

And just like that, it’s easy. We talk about everything and nothing—the music playing, the food, how neither of us knows half the people here. She teases me about being famous, and I tease her about pretending she doesn’t already know the lyrics to our songs. It’s relaxed in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. No cameras, no noise. Just her, in a soft dress, smiling at me over a half-finished drink while fairy lights glow overhead.

Later, when the older guests start dancing, we drift toward the garden to escape the chaos. The night air’s cool, the sound of laughter fading behind us. She kicks off her heels and walks barefoot through the grass, holding them by the straps. I shove my hands in my pockets, watching her spin around, her hair catching the light from the windows. “You’re missing out,” she says, motioning for me to join her.

“I don’t dance,” I protest.

“Liar,” she says, grinning. “Everyone dances at weddings.”

She takes my hand before I can argue, her fingers warm against mine. There’s no music out here, just the faint hum of it from inside, but she starts swaying anyway, moving to her own rhythm. I laugh, trying to follow along, our shadows stretching long across the lawn. Her laughter mixes with mine until I forget how ridiculous I probably look.

When she finally stops, she’s breathless and glowing. “See? Not so bad,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

I shake my head, smiling. “You’re trouble.”

She shrugs. “You like trouble.”

She’s not wrong.

We wander back toward the reception and sit on the edge of the dance floor, watching couples move to some slow song I don’t recognize. She leans her chin on her knees, watching the lights flicker across the room. “It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” she says quietly. “Everyone here just… happy.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

For a while, we just sit there. No talking, no rush. Just the hum of the band and the sound of her breathing beside me.

When Mum comes by later, she gives me a knowing look. “Having fun, love?” she asks, barely hiding a smile.

“Yeah,” I answer, glancing at {{user}} next to me. “Yeah, I am.”

As the night winds down, we help clean up a few tables, stealing leftover cupcakes from the dessert bar. Her hands brush mine when we both reach for the same one, and she freezes for half a second before laughing it off. The music fades, the guests start to leave, and somehow we’re still there talking, laughing, stretching the night out as long as we can.

When it’s finally time to say goodbye, she walks me to the car park. The air smells like rain and flowers. She hugs me, quick and warm, and when she pulls back, there’s this tiny smile on her lips. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again?” she says.

I grin. “Maybe I’ll make sure of it.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling when she turns to go. I watch her walk away, her dress catching the light one last time before she disappears inside.

Mum’s waiting by the car, smirking. “Make a friend, did you?”

“Something like that,” I say, looking back toward the hall. The music’s still playing faintly, the lights still glowing, but my head’s somewhere else entirely.

It’s been hours, but it feels like minutes. Funny how meeting one person can make an entire wedding worth it.