You had told Enid that you weren’t going to the Raven. She had already been talking endlessly to her friends about her “date,” the way her laughter had carried across the Quad when she mentioned it. You didn’t want to go just to be a third wheel, hovering in the background while your feelings for her remained unspoken, tucked carefully away.

But when Xavier had asked, offering the night as a distraction, you hadn’t been able to refuse. A friend’s invitation felt safe, a mask to hide behind, even if it meant facing the event you’d intended to avoid.

Now, standing outside the glowing doors of the Raven, the muffled music seeping through the walls, you took a deep breath. The evening air carried the faint scent of autumn leaves, the city around the academy buzzing softly, but inside, the world you knew would be transformed, lights, laughter, music, movement. You adjusted your jacket, checked your reflection in a nearby glass pane, and stepped forward.

Fashionably late. That had been the plan. But as soon as you walked through the doors, all conversation seemed to pause, all eyes flicking toward you. There was a subtle shift in the air, a ripple of notice that made your pulse pick up. You weren’t used to being looked at like that, not with intent, not with curiosity, not with the quiet calculation of someone taking measure of you.

And then, inevitably, your gaze found hers.

Enid.

She was across the room, caught mid-laugh with her friends, the glow of the lights accentuating her hair, the curve of her smile. Her eyes widened just slightly, and for the briefest moment, time seemed to compress around her reaction. Her friends didn’t notice. She didn’t step back. But the way her gaze held yours, lingering and intent, sent a small, electric charge racing down your spine.

You moved through the crowd, weaving past groups of students, the bass of the music vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. Every step carried a new awareness, you could feel the attention, the subtle glances, the curiosity that followed. It wasn’t arrogance or pride that rose in your chest; it was something quieter, sharper—a thrill of recognition, the strange, delicious tension of being seen.

By the time you reached the center of the room, your hands were just a little tighter at your sides, your shoulders a fraction straighter. The crowd seemed to blur around you, all movement fading into the background except for her. She had shifted slightly, leaning forward, eyes tracing your form with a careful intensity that made your stomach twist in the familiar, bittersweet way.

You reminded yourself to breathe. You reminded yourself that this was meant to be a distraction. Yet as her eyes held yours, the soft curve of her smile deepening in the strobe-lit shadows, all distractions fell away. The music, the lights, the laughter—all of it shrank to nothing compared to that one gaze, the one that had unknowingly been the reason your chest had been tight for months.

And in that moment, as you stood there, catching her silent acknowledgment, the night no longer felt like a mere event. It felt like a stage set just for the two of you, a subtle promise that some stories didn’t need words to begin.