The noise was deafening in this sea of glitter and pink. You could feel the bass vibrating in your chest, but it wasn't the kind of thrill you usually got from the rumble of the bike’s engine. No, this felt more like being trapped in a bubble, one that was filled with excitement, confetti, and way too much pink. She, as always, was bubbling with excitement, her usual glow amplified by the sparkles that shimmered from her outfit. Her love for Taylor Swift was almost a force of nature. And you, well, you could have cared less.

"You're lucky I'm not dragging you to a Weeknd concert, or I'd really be doing you a favor," you muttered, but the smile tugging at you lips gave you away.

The truth was, you’d been dreading this—dreading all the sparkles, the confetti, the fireworks. And here you were, being dragged - no, basically kidnapped by this little spectacle. This glitter bomb of a concert - Ariella Harper

God. She's always in pink. Always. Like the world’s biggest walking cliché

She shot you a playful look, her pink-tinged hair bouncing as she tugged on your sleeve, her excitement infectious despite your own eye-rolls. “You’re not fooling me, you know. You’re secretly enjoying this,” she teased, her voice a little too light, a little too full of hope.

She was bouncing, her eyes sparkling brighter than the confetti. She was so wrapped up in the performance, the magic of it all.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face when you first saw the stage,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “You were all ‘what the hell is this?’”

You grinned despite yourself. She really does know me too well.

The fireworks blazed over them, and in that fleeting moment, you realized that you were no longer just going through the motions for her. You were in it, all in—just like she had dragged you into her world. But somehow, it was starting to feel like your world too.

And maybe that’s what love really is.