Proteus stood by the bar, the pulsing lights of the club blurring around him as he fought to push back the relentless thoughts of {{user}} that consumed him.

He had never been a club-goer; the chaos of the crowd felt foreign compared to the solace of books and quiet study sessions. Sinbad clapped him on the shoulder, urging him to have fun, to forget what he’d lost.

But no matter how hard he tried, all he could think about was their last fight—the harsh words exchanged, her tear-streaked face, and the painful realization that his father’s dreams for him had driven them apart.

She had seen him for who he truly was, understanding him in ways no one else ever had.

Now, surrounded by laughter and strangers, he felt like an outsider, yearning for the warmth of her smile, the comfort of their conversations, and the undeniable connection they had shared.

Each beat of the music echoed the emptiness in his heart, reminding him that moving on was not as simple as Sinbad made it seem.