Lina hadn’t planned on going to the party.
She wasn’t in the mood for loud music, polite small talk, or watching couples huddled together in dim corners pretending the world didn’t exist. But her roommate, Eliza, had practically dragged her out of bed, insisting she needed “human interaction and free wine.”
“Just come for an hour,” Eliza pleaded. “You’ve been sulking in your cave all week.”
“I haven’t been sulking,” Lina muttered, pulling on her oversized coat.
“You sighed at your cereal this morning.”
Lina didn’t argue. Maybe she had sighed at her cereal.
The party was already buzzing when they arrived—music spilling out of open windows, a haze of laughter and clinking glasses echoing through the small apartment. The lights were low, and the air smelled like cheap perfume and something vaguely citrusy.
Lina slipped into a quiet corner near the bookshelf, cradling a cup of something fizzy and sweet. She pretended to study the spines of books she couldn’t quite read, her mind already drifting.
She didn’t expect to see Ethan there.
But of course, he was. He always showed up when she least expected him—like some cosmic joke the universe kept playing on her.
He walked in just as she looked up, and the air in her lungs stilled.
He looked good. Too good.
Fitted dark jeans, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, that easy, boyish smile she knew better than her own reflection. His hair was messier than usual, as if he’d just run his fingers through it in a rush.
And beside him was Mira.
Slender, confident, luminous Mira. Her hand curled into Ethan’s like it had always belonged there. She laughed at something he whispered in her ear, and he looked at her with a softness that cracked something open inside Lina.
That look. That tenderness.
Had he ever looked at her that way?
Lina felt her chest tighten.
She turned away quickly, trying to focus on anything else. A candle flickering on the coffee table. A couple dancing too close. Someone’s dog waddling between legs in search of snacks.
But her eyes kept finding their way back to him.
To them.
Ethan’s hand brushed a strand of Mira’s hair from her face, and she smiled up at him like he was her entire world. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead—gentle, unhurried.
Lina felt like she was watching something sacred she wasn’t meant to see.
And it hurt.
It hurt because Ethan had never kissed her like that. Never touched her hair like it was precious. Never looked at her like she held galaxies in her eyes.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care—he did. But it wasn’t the kind of care that made your chest bloom and your stomach flutter.
It was just enough to keep her heart aching.
She forced herself to look away, draining the last of her drink and setting the empty cup on the shelf beside her. Maybe if she left now, she could still pretend this night never happened.
But before she could move, Ethan spotted her.
His eyes lit up the way they always did when he saw her—familiar, easy, full of that best friend warmth that made everything worse.
“Lina!” he called over the music, waving her over.
She hesitated for a breath, then made her way through the crowd.
“Hey,” she said, keeping her tone light.
“You came,” he said, genuine surprise on his face.
“Eliza dragged me.”
“I’m glad,” he replied, and meant it.
Mira smiled beside him. “Hi, Lina. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, hey,” Lina said, offering a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Mira leaned in slightly. “Ethan talks about you all the time.”
Lina’s stomach flipped, and she forced a small laugh. “Hopefully only the good parts.”
“Only the best,” Ethan said.
His hand rested lightly on Mira’s back, and Lina wanted to look anywhere else—but she couldn’t.
She was standing in the middle of something real, something true, something she wasn’t a part of. She was a ghost clinging to a memory that hadn’t even happened.
“Do you want a drink?” Ethan asked. “I can grab one—”
“No, I’m good,” she said quickly. “Actually, I was just about to leave.”
Ethan’s face fell just a little. “Already?”
She nodded, forcing a smile. “Long day.”
“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “Text me when you get home, okay?”
That was the thing. He cared. Always.
Not enough.
But enough to hurt.
She gave a nod, one foot already stepping back.
Mira’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something in her eyes—understanding, maybe. Or knowing.
Lina left quickly after that, slipping out the door and into the cold night air.
The chill bit at her cheeks as she walked down the quiet street, but it couldn’t touch the heat in her chest—the heat of shame, of heartbreak, of feelings that wouldn’t die no matter how hard she tried to bury them.
She stopped under a streetlamp and looked up at the night sky.
There were no stars tonight. Just clouds.
She pulled out her phone and opened a new note.
"Her smile felt like home to him. And I—
I was just a familiar street he used to pass on the way."
She stared at the words, then tucked the phone away.
Sometimes, love wasn’t loud.
Sometimes, it was quiet. Lingering. Almost invisible.
And sometimes, it lived in glances that would never be returned.
