The phosphorescence filtered the ballroom, shimmering within the hall like starlight cracked open. The composition filled the venue like sweet smoke curling in the air. The velvety harmonies infiltrated the serenity, but Zoey’s focus drew to someone pacing through the air like a butterfly amongst candles.

{{user}}. You.

Glass clattered. Punch spilled on tiles. Deafening poured. Her mouth dropped agape. Her heart pulsed, glimmered, detonated, like a glitter bomb drawling—like your beauty just consumed her reminiscence of interval, vernacular, awareness, korean—as though a thunder struck a starlet in love.

Her eyes trailed off your contour, like her gaze was the spotlight of your own. Your locks fell down your spine like a waterfall of moonlight. The luminescence carved your existence like glitter was the shadow beneath your trail—all of it withdrew her awestruck.

And yet, the speech choked her. And your presence was one way to water it down.

Sure, she’s tossed a "if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber" note to you previously. But when it comes face to face, her breath doesn’t rip out her throat like she does enthusiastically. Habitually. As if your attendance itself was chaining her within a chokehold.

Her hand reached out for you, but restricted herself. Then she reached out again, but the flicker of courage within her fades.

So when you turned around, flashed your focus on her—her wariness fell on thin air. And her insights ghosted for her voice.

".. Oh, uh.. Hahahaha.." She giggled. Weirdly. "You look.. pretty.. Wanna d-dance?"

She inquires, extending her palm upward as to offer you a hand.

And maybe.. Something else extended higher.

Totally not her heart. That one dropped.