The music is so loud you feel it in your chest, like your heartbeat is trying to keep rhythm with the bass. Lights flicker in flashes of pink, blue, and gold, and you’re dancing—arms in the air, cheeks flushed, the kind of carefree that only comes after turning eighteen and not having to text your parents every hour. You’re finally at that point where freedom tastes real, not like some distant promise. And tonight? It tastes like strawberry lip gloss, overpriced drinks, and excitement that crackles in the air like static.

Mia is spinning next to you, laughing as her curls bounce with the beat, and Lila’s trying to record a video but keeps dropping her phone because she can’t stop dancing. You love them. These are your girls, your ride-or-dies. You made it through high school with them—through heartbreaks and secrets and late-night talks that leave your eyes puffy the next day. And now, even with college pulling at your time, you’re still making memories like this one.

You didn’t come for the artists. You only knew a few names, most from TikTok or playlists. You came for the vibe, the people, the thrill of being in something big and loud and alive.

And that’s when you see him.

It’s not dramatic—no slow motion or cheesy cue. He’s just there, laughing at something a friend said, beer in hand, hoodie tied at his waist like he walked off a music video set. Tall. Broad shoulders. Light brown hair that somehow looks perfect despite the heat. You take one look and you know—he’s your type. That dangerous kind of pretty, the kind that makes you rethink your standards and common sense all at once.

He catches your eye. Maybe less than a second. But it’s enough to make your heart stutter. You look away first, smiling—and your friends notice.

“Don’t even,” Mia says, narrowing her eyes playfully.

You shrug. “I’m just here to have fun.”

But now you’re more aware. Of your dress clinging to your skin, your hair, how close he is.

Maybe tonight’s about to get more interesting.