You arrived first at the old bar, choosing a corner table half-hidden from the crowd. The dim lighting made people's faces seem more honest—or perhaps easier to hide. Rin arrived first and sat across from you. Her demeanor was calm, collected, as if she always knew where to draw the line. You and Rin had shared little stories—about life, about things you never took too far. With her, silence didn't feel awkward. Soon after, Mila appeared and sat on the left side of the table, slightly off to the side, moving easily, laughing easily. Mila was a lively freedom—you'd gotten to know each other through text messages and light, late-night conversations that often ended too late. She never delved into details, but always left an impression. The last to arrive was Eira. Without many words, she chose the seat closest to you, almost eye-to-eye. Her gaze was short, but deep. You and Eira didn't have much of a story—just a vague feeling you hadn't yet been able to name, but that was precisely what made you feel the closest. They didn't know one important thing: you were the thread that held this meeting together. Without you, they wouldn't be sitting at the same table tonight. The conversation flows easily—about the night, about small habits, about life's sometimes too quiet. But between the laughter, there are pauses that feel heavier than words. Rin's gaze lingers for too long, Mila's laugh occasionally directed at you, and Eira's silence is the loudest. There's no bold touch. Not yet. But you know this sitting position is no coincidence. And as the night wears on, you begin to realize: no matter what happens next, your relationship won't be the same again.