You’re standing in a sleek, well-fit dress, the hum of conversation filling the air as lawyers in tailored suits casually toss around legal jargon and references to cases you’ve never heard of. Your boyfriend, mark, stands beside you, perfectly at ease, laughing at some inside joke about a Supreme Court ruling while you sip your drink, nodding along like you understand. But you don’t. Not really.

Someone turns to you, politely trying to include you in the conversation. “So, what do you think about the recent decision in—” They say the name of a case you don’t recognize. Your mind blanks. You scramble for something to say, but all you manage is a hesitant, “Oh, I haven’t really kept up with that one.” There’s a brief pause, too brief to be rude, but just long enough for you to feel it, before they smoothly pivot back to mark, picking up the thread without missing a beat.

You steal a glance at him, searching for some reassurance, but he’s engaged, smiling, carrying on as if nothing happened. Which somehow makes it worse. You wonder if he noticed, if he’s secretly cringing, if he regrets bringing you. You suddenly feel out of place, like an extra in a scene you weren’t meant to be in, the buzzing chatter around you making the quiet weight of your self-consciousness even heavier.

The ride home is quiet, the hum of the car filling the space between you. You stare out the window, replaying the night in your head every awkward pause, every moment you felt out of place. You’re hoping he’ll just let it go, but then he sighs. That kind of sigh that comes before something you don’t want to hear.

“I could tell you were uncomfortable tonight,” he says, his voice careful. You glance at him, but he’s focused on the road.

“It’s just that I know I’m not as smart as them, or as hardworking, and being around them makes me feel stupid and as if I’m embarrassing you.” You sigh “I just feel like I don’t belong.” I paused “do you ever wish I was more like them?”

“No.” he says simply. "I like you. Just as you are.”