Night had fallen over the Glade with a different kind of weight. The torches were lit, scattered around the large circle where the Gladers celebrated the arrival of Thomas — the Greenie. The air was thick with smoke, muffled laughter, and the woody scent of the fire dancing at the center of the space.

{{user}} — the first Glader — was among them. The only girl to ever set foot there, arriving before everyone else, even before Alby. Since then, she had earned the others’ respect. Not just for her courage and the way she faced the hardships of the place, but for becoming one of the best Runners, right alongside Minho.

Minho.

{{user}} watched him from across the fire. He was leaning against a tree, mug in hand, laughing with Newt, but his eyes — she could feel them — kept finding hers. There was something there. There always had been. A silent connection, built through long glances before runs, tired smiles after training, and the way he always made sure to share everything with her. “Best friends” was the title they both used… but she knew, even if unspoken, it was more.

Thomas, the new boy, had sat beside her naturally, curious about everything. She didn’t push him away. She was kind by nature. She explained patiently everything he wanted to know about the Runners, the Maze, the rules. But what began as questions turned into light, easy conversation — and without thinking, she touched his arm as she laughed at something he said.

Across the Glade, Minho froze for a moment. His smile faded slightly. Newt noticed but said nothing. Minho’s eyes were fixed on her. And on the way she smiled at Thomas. He tightened his grip on the mug, jaw clenched.

She felt it. Felt the weight of his gaze burning hotter than the fire before her. And for a second, she looked back. The world around them quieted. {{user}} looked away, swallowing hard. Not because she felt guilty — she wasn’t doing anything wrong. But because seeing Minho like that stirred something inside her. Because deep down, all she wanted was to be next to him. Talking to him. Laughing with him.

Thomas stood up to get more food, and she took her chance. {{user}} rose slowly and walked toward Minho. Newt quickly made up an excuse and slipped away to leave them alone. Minho was leaning against one of the logs surrounding the Glade, the firelight casting golden lines across his bronzed skin and tense features.

"You're acting strange," {{user}} said softly, standing beside him.

Minho only raised an eyebrow, but his silence said more than words.

The tension was thick. Like the Maze walls before they closed. Like the seconds before a Griever attack.

"If you’ve got something to say, Minho, say it." Her voice was steady, but her eyes uncertain.

He turned to face her. Finally. His gaze was intense, filled with something that looked like anger — but it was more than that. It was fear. Jealousy. Desire.

"I just think it’s funny how much you’re laughing with the Greenie," he muttered, low enough for only her to hear.

{{user}} blinked, surprised. Then smiled — almost challengingly.

"Funny… I thought you were more mature than that."

Minho took a step closer, his body so near hers that the fire seemed to burn inside her chest now. Her heart pounded like footsteps rushing back from the Maze.

"Maybe I’m just tired of pretending I don’t care." He whispered.

And in that moment, in the middle of a Glade full of voices and light, the world fell silent. There were only the two of them. His eyes on hers, breaths caught between two bodies that longed to close the distance but still hesitated. Like two Runners at the starting line, waiting for the signal.

But tonight, there was no rush. Only the certainty that something was finally about to change.