The apartment building already looks guilty.
I stare up at it as Yolanda parks the car.
Whose unlucky apartment is this? I wonder. Who volunteered their home for destruction tonight? Or maybe they didn't volunteer at all.
The music spills out into the hallway even before we reach the door — not painfully loud, but loud enough to feel it in my ribs. The bass hums against my chest like a warning.
Yolanda and Danilo get out immediately.
I sit there for half a second too long.
My fingers tighten around my purse.
Don't be weird. Don't make this about you.
I step out.
The night air feels heavier now.
Danilo glances at me briefly — like he's checking something — then a group of seniors shout his name from across the parking lot.
And just like that, he's gone.
No hesitation.
No looking back.
Something about that stings more than it should.
Yolanda notices the way I stiffen.
She wraps her arms around me suddenly. "Breathe," she whispers. "You're hot. You're alive. And if anyone here acts stupid, I'll fight them."
I laugh weakly.
She pulls away and grabs my hand. "Let's go."
Inside, the lights are flashing — not blinding, but disorienting enough that I can't immediately recognize anyone. Faces blur. Shadows move. Everything feels slightly unreal.
The air hits me next.
Alcohol.
Perfume.
Something sweet and artificial.
And underneath it all — sweat.
My stomach flips.
Don't react. Don't be dramatic.
I swallow it down.
I don't want to be the girl who can't handle a party. I don't want the night to revolve around me needing fresh air or complaining about the smell.
I force my shoulders to relax.
"I'll get us drinks!" Yolanda shouts over the music.
I nod.
She disappears into the crowd.
And doesn't come back.
Minutes stretch.
Five.
Ten.
Too long.
I scan the room until I spot her.
And my jaw tightens instantly.
She's pressed against someone.
Making out.
Keith.
Keith the senior with nothing impressive about him except his audacity.
My irritation flares so fast it surprises me.
What does she even see in him?
Around me, everything suddenly feels too intense. Too raw.
Couples tangled together like they're auditioning for something. People laughing too loudly. A guy in the corner clearly not sober enough to be standing.
I knew I wasn't going to like this.
My chest feels tight.
I need a break.
I slip toward the bathroom, locking myself inside for a second just to breathe.
The silence is almost violent after the noise.
I grip the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.
You're fine.
You're not weak.
You're just… not this.
After a minute, I step back out.
And that's when I see it.
A door down the hallway.
Less chaos.
Fewer bodies.
The energy feels… different.
Composed.
Controlled.
There are maybe five or six people inside. Some scrolling on their phones. Others sipping drinks calmly like they're at some low-lit lounge instead of a high school disaster.
I take a step toward it.
A girl blocks me.
"VIP only," she says flatly, looking me up and down like I'm a stain.
VIP?
I almost laugh.
Before I can respond, a guy behind her leans forward and whispers something in her ear. Her expression changes instantly.
She steps aside.
"You can go in."
Weird.
But I don't question it.
I need sanity.
Inside, the room is bigger than it looked from the hallway. Dim lighting. Plush couches. The music is softer here — more background than assault.
There are more people than I first counted, but they're quieter. Controlled. Almost curated.
I sit down carefully.
A drink is placed in my hand without me asking.
I take a small sip.
It tastes… smoother.
Cleaner.
Definitely not whatever they were serving out there.
Five minutes pass.
Then ten.
People keep refilling glasses casually.
I pinch the inside of my wrist lightly.
Stay aware.
Don't get drunk.
Don't lose control.
And then the door opens.
The energy shifts instantly.
Heads turn.
The air changes.
A man walks in.
He's dressed… differently.
Culturally.
His face partially covered in a way that feels intentional, powerful. His posture is straight. Controlled. Confident without trying.
Everyone stares.
Including me.
There's something magnetic about him. Important. Untouchable.
I don't want attention again.
I stand up, intending to move to another seat.
Suddenly — a hand grips my wrist.
Firm.
Not painful.
But commanding.
I'm pulled back down onto the couch.
No one reacts.
Except the guards near the door. I hadn't even noticed them before.
How rude.
Anger flashes through me.
I turn sharply—
And then he speaks.
"You don't have to run all the time."
My stomach drops.
That voice.
I know that voice.
Zayn.
Of course it's Zayn.
My nightmare.
My pulse speeds up instantly, but I force my face to stay neutral.
"I wasn't running," I reply coolly.
His covered face tilts slightly, like he's amused.
"It hurts my ego when you pretend I don't affect you."
The audacity.
I scoff. "Why are you even here? Don't you have more important things to do? You barely make it to class anyway."
My sarcasm lands clean.
He leans back lazily. "Did you miss me?"
I blink.
The confidence.
The arrogance.
It should disgust me.
It kind of does.
But it also… does something else.
He studies me openly. "You look beautiful tonight."
And I hate how that makes my stomach tighten.
It feels different from when Danilo said it.
Danilo's compliment felt warm.
Safe.
Zayn's feels dangerous.
Like stepping too close to fire just to see if you'll burn.
"You say that to everyone?" I ask.
"Only the ones who pretend they don't care."
My breath catches slightly.
I hate that he sees through things.
I hate that part of me likes that he does.
He leans closer. "Do you want to go somewhere more private?"
My heart pounds hard enough that I'm sure he can hear it.
This is reckless.
This is unnecessary.
This is exactly the kind of thing I said I wouldn't do tonight.
But the room suddenly feels too small again.
And he feels like a door to something else.
"Okay," I hear myself say.
And I don't know if that's bravery.
Or the beginning of a mistake