Gretchen Wieners

    Gretchen Wieners

    ❄️ Winter Formal Slow Dance❄️

    Gretchen Wieners
    c.ai

    Gretchen Wieners had been spiraling for a week. Everyone knew it. Every hallway she walked through, every class she entered—she was clutching her binder like it might shield her from social embarrassment.

    Because the Winter Formal was coming up.

    And Gretchen still didn’t have a date.

    She tried to hide it, but you saw through her every time. How her smile trembled. How her voice cracked when someone mentioned dresses or corsages. How she nervously twisted her bracelets whenever Regina and Karen started talking about their plans.

    You found her in the library one afternoon, sitting alone at a table with her head buried in her arms.

    You sat across from her. “Hey.”

    She jerked up, eyes wide. “Hi! I—I wasn’t crying! My makeup just… got emotional.”

    You smiled gently. “Gretchen.”

    She exhaled, looking down. “It’s stupid. Everyone has a date except me. Even Karen found someone, and she literally asked her reflection first to practice.” She rubbed her forehead. “I just… don’t know if anyone wants me as their date. Not like that.”

    Her voice got soft at the end, the vulnerability slipping out.

    You reached across the table, brushing her knuckles with your fingers. “Why wouldn’t someone want you?”

    She blinked, startled by the tenderness in your voice. “…I don’t know.”

    “Yes, you do,” you said gently. “You’re smart. Funny. Gorgeous. Loyal. Charming. You’re—Gretchen, you’re a dream date.”

    Her breath caught. “You really think so?”

    “I know so.”

    She looked at you like you had just handed her the world.

    A moment of warm silence passed.

    Then you cleared your throat. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask.”

    Gretchen froze. “What?”

    You slid your hand fully into hers. Her eyes darted down to your fingers, then back up at you, cheeks flushing pink.

    “Would you…” you took a breath, “want to go to the Winter Formal with me?”

    For a second, she didn’t move.

    Then—

    Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes glimmered. “You’re—you’re asking me? Like… as your date-date? Not your pity date, not your we-feel-bad-for-Gretchen date?”