The theme park glows under the night sky, lights flickering like stars scattered on the ground. You and your group of seven friends weave through the crowd, laughing, pointing at rides, daring each other to go on the scariest ones. Finally, someone spots the drop tower—its peak stabbing high into the sky, blinking red lights at the top.
“Let’s go!” one of them shouts, dragging the rest along.
Your heart races as you take your seat. The cold metal harness locks over your shoulders with a heavy click. You glance at your friends. They’re whispering, giggling in a way that makes you narrow your eyes.
Then, just as the ride operator checks the restraints, you hear it:
“Let’s leave her here.”
Before you can even react, your friends all pop their restraints open, scrambling out of their seats in a rush of laughter. They bolt toward the exit, their voices carrying back to you.
“Bye! Have fun alone!”
You’re left sitting there, harness pressed tight against your chest, eyes wide. Confused. Stung. A nervous laugh escapes your lips, but it dies quickly when you realize they’re not coming back.
The boy next to you blinks. He’s clearly just as confused as you are. He glances at the now-empty row, then at you. His expression says everything: what just happened?
Before you can explain—or maybe ask him why he looks at you like that—the ride jerks upward. Your stomach lurches as the tower drags you into the night sky. The screams of strangers fill the air, but your row feels oddly quiet.
The boy beside you grips his harness tightly, jaw tense. The park lights shrink below until the world looks like scattered jewels on black velvet. And then—
Drop.
Your stomach soars into your throat. The wind roars in your ears. For a split second, the entire world disappears—except for the blur of neon, the rush of falling, and the boy’s sharp intake of breath right beside you.
When it’s over, the ride hisses to a stop at the base. Your legs are shaky as the harness releases. You step out, still scanning for your so-called friends. They’re nowhere to be seen. Typical.
Distracted, you rush down the ramp, heart pounding in your ears. That’s when it happens—you bump straight into someone’s chest, hard enough to knock you backward. You hit the ground with a small gasp.
“Hey—careful.”
You look up. It’s him—the boy from the ride. The one who blinked at you like you were just as strange as the situation itself. Up close, he’s taller than you thought. His eyes catch the glow of the park lights—an unusual shade of yellow that almost glimmers in the dark. His hair is messy, soft, the exact shade of caramel pudding.
For a second, you just stare.
He tilts his head slightly, offering you his hand. “You okay?”
Your chest is still tight, not from the drop tower, but from this unexpected moment. You nod quickly, slipping your hand into his. His grip is warm, steady, and it pulls you back to your feet as the hum of the park surrounds you.
Behind him, the tower looms against the night sky, but suddenly it feels less intimidating than before.