Sara's POV
The zipper clicked into place, smooth and final.
Sara stepped back from the mirror and took herself in — the pale gold dress shimmered with quiet grace, not too bold, not too plain. The kind of look that said 'yes, I'm Alvaren's daughter, but no, you don't own me.'
Her father had already left for the evening — some political dinner with ambassadors. Not that he would've said no if she asked to skip the party. But that would have made things worse. Laziel would've shown up at her gate instead, probably with roses and half the school in tow.
She sighed, adjusting her earrings.
The party wasn't for her. It was for the school's sudden Aetherstrike victory, the one thing this year that hadn't been orchestrated. The new team had actually earned it — rough, unexpected, co-ed. Authentic. Maybe that's why she said yes to going at all.
She grabbed her clutch and moved downstairs.
The estate was quiet. She stepped outside alone, into the private car that had been arranged — no driver, just autopilot.
As the city blurred past the windows, Sara leaned back and let her mind wander.
Laziel would be there. Obviously. He'd probably try to make some announcement. Her father might have shut down the whole arranged marriage talk, but Laziel didn't get the memo.
Old families, same circles — it was always the same excuses.
But she wasn't an accessory. She was tired of being treated like one.
'I'm not a pawn. I'm not anyone's prize.'
The thought simmered as the car pulled into the glowing arches of the Elarion estate. Light globes hovered along the path like fireflies in formation. She stepped out, heels clicking softly, and let the music guide her into the heart of it all.
And then, as expected, Laziel appeared beside her with that smug confidence that never quite cracked. He offered his arm. She didn't take it, but walked beside him, eyes constantly darting for an exit strategy.
It didn't come. But after some time, someone called Laziel.
The ballroom was already pulsing — soft lights, high ceilings, faces she half-recognized. Somewhere in the crowd, she saw Laziel laughing, shaking hands, talking too loudly. She moved the other way.
That's when she saw the garden doors. Parted slightly. A soft breeze beckoning.
Sara slipped through them.
The quite wrapped around her like silk — cool, fragrant, still.
She walked the path, letting her thoughts melt in the rhythm of her steps… until she saw her. A girl already sitting on one of the curved benches beneath a silver-leafed tree, her silhouette quiet and composed in the moonlight.
Sara almost didn't see her at first.
"Oh," she said, pausing. "Sorry— I didn't realize someone was here."
The girl looked up, her eyes catching Sara's. "It's fine. Plenty of bench."
Sara hesitated. Then sat.
A pause.
"I've seen you before," she said eventually. "You're in my year, right?"
The girl nodded. "Same class. Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"I'm… the quiet kind," she replied. "I fade into the walls sometimes."
Sara turned to look at her more closely. Something about her felt grounded — like she meant what she said.
"That's a pretty poetic way to say introvert."
The girl chuckled. "I've been called worse."
And the awkwardness broke, just like that.
They talked.
About music and books. About weird hobbies. About how awful cafeteria coffee was. Her name never came up — and for some reason, Sara didn't ask. It felt better that way. Lighter. Like the moment could breathe without context.
Then the girl's voice lowered. "I saw you earlier."
Sara blinked. "With Laziel?"
A sigh slipped out. "Yeah."
The next words surprised her.
"You didn't look thrilled."
She gave a dry laugh. "That's generous. He thinks we're perfect because it makes sense on paper. But I'm not a contract. Or a ribbon. Or whatever image he's projecting."
The girl smiled, a little crooked. "Forgive him. He's a fool with a rich complex. He doesn't know how to think."
Sara stared.
And then laughed — really laughed. Not polite. Not composed.
"You're dangerous," she said.
"Only on Wednesdays."
It was ridiculous.
And she loved it.
They both laughed for longer than the joke deserved.
After that, things softened.
They talked more. About pressure. Expectations. How weird it was to be seventeen and supposed to know who you're going to be. Sara opened up about her father — his love, his suffocation — and the girl shared nothing about her own family, but still listened with a kind of depth that made Sara keep speaking.
Then it happened. A small shift in the air.
The girl's voice softened. "I like you."
Sara blinked. No hesitation in the voice — just honesty.
The girl's voice was quiet, steady. "Not in a vague, casual way. Not in a 'you seem cool' kind of way. I've liked you for a while. And I know this probably feels sudden, and maybe weird, but… it's true."
Sara looked at her — this stranger who somehow didn't feel like one. Her heart thudded gently, insistently.
"I don't know you," she said at last. "Not really. But maybe I'd like to."
The girl nodded. "Then… let me."
Sara smiled.
"I'm busy Saturday."
The girl chuckled. "Sunday, then?"
"Sunday," Sara said.
And for once, nothing about the world felt expected.
It just felt right.