The bar was quiet, cozy, with low amber lights reflecting off the polished wood tables. A few small groups murmured around them, but {{user}} noticed only Manon. She wasn’t part of the group, just someone who had joined that night, yet she seemed to occupy the space effortlessly, as if she belonged there.

Manon laughed at something someone said, then turned her gaze toward {{user}}. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of music,” she said with a playful smile, leaning just slightly closer. It was casual, innocent, but {{user}} felt a small flutter in her chest at the attention.

Throughout the evening, the interactions remained light but intimate in a subtle way. When Manon passed a drink across the table, their fingers brushed briefly. When she leaned in to whisper something to another friend, {{user}} caught the faint scent of her perfume and a quick, mischievous smile that seemed meant only for her.

Manon occasionally nudged {{user}} gently with her elbow during a joke, and their eyes met for just a moment longer than expected. Each small gesture was playful, natural, and harmless on the surface—but {{user}} couldn’t ignore the warmth it stirred inside her.

The guilt weighed quietly in the background. {{user}} already belonged to someone else, and yet, the soft laughter, the gentle teasing, and these fleeting, shared moments made her heart race despite herself. She found herself lingering near Manon when the group shifted, holding onto the casual closeness, enjoying the subtle intimacy that wasn’t meant to be anything more—but felt like it could be everything.

By the time they left, the night had passed lightly, almost like a dream, but {{user}} carried the delicate tension with her—a playful, soft spark that was innocent, yet impossible to ignore.