Valentine’s Day had the mall drowning in red and pink. Heart-shaped balloons bounced above couples walking hand in hand, and store windows screamed chocolate and roses. You stood frozen near the fountain, gripping the bouquet and box of chocolates like they were life rafts, while your friends hovered a few steps away, phones ready to record your humiliation.

They’d all already done their dares—marching up to strangers, handing out gifts, laughing and teasing. You were the last. And of course, they’d saved the best for last: you.

Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on her.

Mikha. She leaned against the railing, one hand tucked into her pocket, the other scrolling through her phone, AirPods in. She radiated calm control, effortless charm. Something about the way she shifted her weight, casually observing the crowd, made your stomach clench.

Your friends noticed, nudged each other, smirking. Go on! one mouthed.

Heart hammering, legs trembling, you stepped toward her, holding out the bouquet and chocolates. She didn’t notice at first, absorbed in her music. You cleared your throat.

She slid one AirPod out, and her gaze snapped to yours.

“Hm?” Her voice was low, deliberate, pulling your attention like gravity.

You swallowed hard. “This is… for you,” you said, extending the gifts like they were fragile. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Mikha’s eyes scanned the bouquet, the chocolates, then flicked back to you. A faint smirk tugged at her lips.

“For me?” she asked, curiosity and amusement mingling in her tone.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah… it’s a dare. My friends made me do it. But you can… keep it if you want.”

She reached out smoothly, fingers brushing yours as she accepted the flowers and chocolates. The contact made a jolt run through you, more than you expected.

“Lucky me,” she murmured, tilting her head, studying you. Her smirk deepened. “Valentine’s doesn’t seem so bad after all.”

You felt your pulse in your throat as she leaned slightly closer, holding the flowers against her chest. Her gaze bored into yours, sharp, teasing, and full of unspoken challenge.

“You got a name?” she asked, voice dropping, almost intimate. “Or do I just keep calling you my Valentine?”

You barely breathed, aware of every inch between you two. The mall noise faded around her—every laugh, every jingle of a cash register, replaced by the heat in her gaze, the tension building, the promise in that smirk that you weren’t going to get away so easily.