Luke had already danced twice that evening, exchanged pleasantries with more people than he could count, and smiled until his cheeks ached. None of it mattered much until he noticed {{user}} again.

She stood near her brother, hands folded neatly, listening more than speaking. She didn’t try to draw attention to herself, and somehow that made his gaze return to her every time. When their eyes met, she looked away quickly, as if she hadn’t meant to be noticed at all.

Luke straightened, smoothed his cuffs, and approached with practice ease. He bowed politely, just enough to show respect, before offering his hand.

“Miss {{user}},” he said warmly, “may I have the honor of this dance?”