{{user}} and Lana had built something rare. Years of shared glances, soft laughter, and the kind of love that felt like velvet—rich, resilient, intoxicating. Tonight was one of those nights that made time feel irrelevant.

They drove with no destination, winding through sleepy back roads lit only by moonlight and the shimmer of passing stars. The windows were down, Lana’s hair swept by the breeze, and her hand tangled effortlessly with {{user}}’s. They laughed like the world was made just for them—brushing arms, sneaking kisses, hearts thrumming in perfect rhythm.

The night was almost too perfect, wrapped in a haze of warmth and music. Lana’s voice—soft, honeyed—rose now and then to echo the lyrics on the radio, not for performance, but for joy. She looked over, her smile lazy and affectionate.

“It’s 3:35 a.m., baby…” she whispered, eyes glinting under the starlight. Her thumb stroked {{user}}’s hand gently.

She wasn’t ready to go home. The apartment they shared could wait. Right now, this night felt endless. Magic. And Lana, fully awake, fully in love, wanted every second to stretch a little longer.