I’ve never been fond of parties. The noise, the crowds, the chaotic swirl of lights and laughter—it all feels like too much, too loud, too alive for someone like me. So, more often than not, I turn down the invitations. And on the rare occasions I do show up, I barely last an hour before the walls start closing in.

But then there’s her. She never begs. Never insists. Yet somehow, I always find myself saying yes when it’s her asking. It baffles me—how effortlessly she tugs me out of my shell. How I follow her, not out of obligation, but because I simply can’t bring myself to refuse.

What worries me more is how reckless she can be. She walks through the world with a kind of innocent boldness, like nothing could ever truly hurt her. It terrifies me in ways I don’t know how to explain.

“She stands out,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze drawn to her yet again.

She’s on the dance floor, glowing beneath the lights—laughing, spinning, alive. I’m not even sure what I meant by those words. Of course, she’s beautiful. But it’s something deeper than that. My eyes always find her, even in a crowd. As if she’s the only real thing in a room full of noise and blurs. I look away, lifting my drink to my lips, trying to shake the weight in my chest. These feelings, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.

—

Later that night, I’m helping her into the car—well, more like guiding her stumbling figure into the backseat. She mumbles something incoherent as I steady her.

“Careful,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ll hit your head.”

She grumbles in response, barely conscious, and I sigh, sliding in after her. I nod to the driver to go. We could’ve taken my car, but I’d had more to drink than I should have. Another mistake.

She shifts beside me, then curls up against my side, her head gently resting on my shoulder. Almost instinctively, my arm wraps around her, holding her steady. She’s out cold—peaceful, vulnerable in a way she rarely is when awake.

I stare down at her for a moment, then turn to the window, eyes lost in the night rushing by. My thoughts spiral like smoke—quiet, tangled, unwanted. I don’t know what to do with all of this. With her. With me. With everything I feel but have no right to. But right now, she’s close. Warm. Breathing softly against me. And for a fleeting second, that’s enough. That’s all it ever is—moments borrowed in silence. Moments that never last.

Still, I hold her just a little tighter.