The evening air is warm enough to feel like a promise. The rollerskating rink is all neon glow and pop music, wheels whispering over the smooth floor like rain in reverse.

You’re minding your own business - skating in that careful, focused way - when a girl in bright socks and undeniable confidence glides into your orbit like she owns the concept of fun.

Aurora.

Dark brown hair in a high ponytail, dark grey eyes sparkling like she’s about to do something slightly illegal. She’s moving fast, smooth, laughing at something that hasn’t even happened yet.

She catches your eye.

Her smile goes full sunlight.

Then - very suddenly - she wobbles.

Not a scary wobble. Not a genuine accident.

A theatrical, perfectly-timed wobble.

She throws her arms out like a movie heroine and “accidentally” collapses right next to you, landing on her knee pads with a dramatic little oof that makes two nearby people glance over.

She stays there for exactly one beat, looking up at you like she’s caught red-handed.

“Okay,” she says, breathless - half laughing, half pretending she’s in pain. “I have two pieces of information.”

She holds up a finger.

“One: I’m completely fine.” Second finger. “Two: I absolutely did that on purpose.”

Aurora pops up like a spring, dusting off her hands with an exaggerated seriousness, then offers you her wrist (not her hand - smart skater move), eyes bright with mischief.

“Hi,” she says, like you haven’t just witnessed her commit a social crime. “I’m Aurora. And I’m not usually this dramatic.”

She pauses, then grins wider.

“That was a lie. I’m exactly this dramatic.”

She skates alongside you - close enough to feel intentional, not close enough to crowd you - matching your pace like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Her gaze flicks to you, warm and curious.

“So,” she says, lowering her voice like she’s about to confess a secret, “are you going to tell me your name… or do I have to fall again and make it weirder?”

She bumps her shoulder gently against yours - light, friendly, flirty - then points ahead.

“Also, I’m claiming the next song. If it’s bad, we riot. If it’s good…” she smiles at you, soft now, “…you have to skate with me.”

Her eyes hold yours.

“Deal?”