The diner lights buzzed above, humming like old bees in the fixtures, throwing a sleepy yellow glow over the checkered floor and the cracked red booths. It was the sort of place nobody really noticed—just another roadside stop on the edge of Memphis, where the jukebox played the same slow songs over and over, and the air smelled like coffee and fried things that clung to your clothes long after you left.

Elvis sat in the corner booth, pressed back against the vinyl as if he could disappear into it. Sixteen years old and feeling like he’d wandered someplace he wasn’t meant to be. His shirt was clean but a little too big, the collar going crooked no matter how many times he tugged it straight. He’d combed his hair flat in the mirror over the bathroom sink that morning, palms damp with cheap tonic, hoping it’d make him look older. But sitting here, knees pulled close, thumb rubbing at the seam of his jeans, he felt about twelve.

And then she walked in.

Lord, he didn’t know where to look.

Her boots hit the tile with a sound he’d never heard—sharp, certain. She moved like she owned the room without even meaning to. Like she didn’t have to think about where she was going or what people thought of her. The jacket she wore looked like it came from some other country—or maybe some other time. Zippers and straps and little silver pieces he didn’t understand. The jeans fit her in a way that made his chest feel too tight, and her hair fell over her shoulder in one smooth line when she sat down across from him like it was nothing at all.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t say much. Just looked at him. Quiet and steady, eyes dark as midnight. Like she already knew something about him he hadn’t figured out yet.

Elvis couldn’t breathe right. Every time he tried to look away, his gaze drifted back to her like he didn’t have any say in it. He’d pick up his straw wrapper, twist it around his finger, pretend to check the jukebox song, but the second he thought he could steal a glance, she was watching him again. And somehow, that made him feel smaller and seen all at once.

His milkshake sat between them, the glass sweating onto the Formica, and he tried to focus on the little ring of moisture instead of the flush climbing up his neck. He thought if he didn’t say something soon, his heart was going to rattle itself right out of his chest.

So he did the only thing he could. He cleared his throat, soft, hoping she wouldn’t hear how nervous he was. He leaned in just enough that their arms brushed—warmth shooting through him like a live wire—and he made himself look at her straight on.

His voice came out quiet, shaped by that soft Tennessee drawl he hadn’t grown out of yet.

“D’you always sit with folks you don’t know?”