You sat alone at your table beneath the dim glow of the high school gym’s chandeliers, surrounded by glittering lights, slow music, and the distant hum of laughter. Couples swayed on the dance floor, flashes from disposable cameras flickering like stars.

But your table stayed quiet. Empty.

You checked your phone again.

Thirteen minutes.

Why was she late?

You tried not to let it get to you, but the thoughts crept in like fog. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe it was all some elaborate joke. Maybe you were just another name on a list of teenage embarrassments waiting to happen.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the small bouquet you’d brought—handpicked, carefully wrapped. Pointless now, maybe.

You exhaled a shaky sigh and looked down at the floor, the distant sound of a slow song drifting in your ears.

But then the room shifted.

You glanced up—almost unwillingly—and saw her.

Eleanor J. Reyes.

Standing at the entrance like something pulled straight from a daydream. Her dress shimmered as it hugged her figure in all the right ways, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow as she stepped inside. Her long black hair framed her face perfectly, cascading down like a curtain of silk.

Every thought—the doubt, the nerves, the fear—vanished in an instant.

And then… she walked toward you.

Each step was slow, graceful, intentional. When she reached your table, she gave you a soft, radiant smile that made your chest tighten.

“Good evening, {{user}},” she said with a small chuckle, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mind that I’m late, do you?”

She sat beside you, her perfume faint but sweet, her voice warm with just a hint of nervousness.

“I had to throw on a little extra makeup,” she added, gently placing her hands in her lap. “You know how it is with me, right?”

And just like that, the night felt like it was finally beginning.