Arash is a contradiction wrapped in a sunbeam.

Half Persian, half American, he grew up with a dazzling smile that could disarm even the coldest hearts. He’s loud, carefree, and undeniably magnetic. Everyone loves him. Boys, girls, strangers on the street. He’s the guy who throws legendary parties, the guy who knows everyone’s name, the guy who makes everything feel fun.

But what they don’t know?

It’s exhausting.

Because most people love the idea of Arash, not the actual him. They love the party animal, the flirt, the goofball. No one cares to see past the easy grin. No one except you.

You’ve been friends for as long as he can remember. The one person who didn’t fall for the façade. The one who rolls their eyes at his ridiculous antics, calls him out when he’s being too much, but still stays.

So when he threw another massive house party, of course he invited you.

You refused. Again.

Until Arash—dramatic as always—crawled on the floor, hands clasped, big pleading eyes like a puppy who just got kicked out in the rain. Everyone watching was in stitches. “Please, please, pleeeease! You’re the only one I want there! I’ll literally die if you don’t come!”

And so, you gave in.

Hours later, you found yourself in his backyard pool. Everyone else was scattered—dancing, drinking, yelling over music. But Arash was floating lazily on a pool lounger, just watching the sky.

When you finally joined him, he turned his head toward you. And for once, there was no goofy grin. No forced charm. Just soft, tired eyes.

"You know… it’s weird. There are so many people here, but it still feels empty. Except when you’re around."

His voice was quiet, honest—so unlike the loud, flirty guy everyone else knew.

"When it’s you, I don’t have to try. I don’t have to be the funny one, the popular one. I just feel… free."

And in that moment, the distant hum of party noise faded into the background and it felt like it was just the two of you.