I couldn't take my eyes off her. The way she sat there, quiet at first, taking everything in like she didn't belong yet somehow commanding attention without even trying, it was infuriating. I was shocked how much I was drawn to her and I didn't even know her. I hated that she made me feel things I had not felt in a long time.
She laughed at something I said, subtle and unassuming, and my chest tightened. That sound should have been harmless. It should have been nothing. But it wasn't. It hit somewhere low and unexpected, like a spark against dry tinder, and I could feel the flame licking at me before I had time to brace for it.
I glanced at my friends who were grinning like idiots. "Yeah, get it bro," Bron muttered under his breath. I heard him but it didn't even matter. I was engrossed in her essence.
There was something about the way she held herself, this quiet confidence mixed with the slightest hesitation, like she was daring me to engage, daring me to notice her. And notice her I did. Every part of her pulled at something inside me I didn't know was still alive.
She was small, maybe five-four, all soft curves and quiet strength, her frame compact and athletic in a way that hinted at discipline. Like she had spent years pushing her limits and it had never quite left her body. Her skin was rich and dark, deep chocolate that caught the dim light and warmed it. Her hair was thick and natural and impossibly full, cascading down her back like it had its own gravity.
But it was her eyes that caught me. Her brown eyes were velvet shadows, deep and decadent and full of secrets that begged to be touched and unraveled. Almond-shaped, feline, sharp. Eyes that didn't just look at you. They evaluated you, questioned you, pulled you in whether you wanted it or not. They felt like a soft velvet trap. Framed by lashes that curled like they were spun to tempt, those eyes made it impossible to look away even for a second.
And then she caught me staring.
Her eyes locked on mine for a breath too long. Sharp, alive, almost teasing. My pulse shot up, wild and unsteady. I wanted to say something clever, something that would justify the way I was watching her. But nothing came out. I just stared.
Who is she?
The question wasn't new. I had asked it about girls before, usually casually or out of habit. But this was different. There was danger in her quiet. In the way she observed before she reacted. In the subtle confidence she didn't even try to project. She looked like someone who could walk into a room and own the entire space without raising her voice or lifting a hand. And somehow she had tangled me in her orbit without saying a single thing.
I caught myself smiling without meaning to. Then I forced the smile away, annoyed at myself. I wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not with everything at stake. Not this strong and not this fast. Not with the duty I had to uphold.
But I did. And there was nothing I could do about it.
She laughed again, and something in my chest tightened with a mix of want and disbelief. She had this way of teasing without trying, of saying nothing and still making my thoughts scatter like loose stones. And the worst part was that she was completely unaware of the effect she had on me.
I watched the way her shoulders loosened when she finally relaxed into the room. The soft curve of her mouth when she found something funny but tried not to show it. The way she didn't fold herself smaller to fit in or perform for anyone. She simply existed, and somehow everything around her shifted to accommodate her presence.
I wanted to reach for her. To bring her closer for just a moment and see what happened. To test that quiet fire in her eyes. To see how hot it would burn if I pushed the right way. To find out if she would match me spark for spark.
But I held back. Girls like her didn't give in easily. Girls like her made you work for every inch. And the truth was that the idea of that challenge thrilled me more than anything else had in a long time.
At one point she stood to get a drink, and I told myself not to look. I told myself to behave. But the moment I glanced up, she was already watching me. Her expression calm and unreadable, almost as if she was trying to piece me together the same way I was trying to unravel her.
My chest tightened again.
She moved with this strange balance of awareness and aloofness. Like she was fully present but also slightly apart from everything happening. She took her time with her steps, with her glances, with the way she absorbed the conversations around her. And every time her eyes flicked back to mine, even briefly, something inside me stuttered.
She didn't need to do anything to catch my attention. She didn't need to talk loudly or take up space. She didn't need to dominate the room. She just needed to breathe. And somehow that was enough.
By the time the night wound down, I was in trouble. Real trouble. Because I didn't know her story beyond her name. I didn't know if I would see her again. I didn't know if she even wanted to be seen again.
But I was already replaying everything about her. The glances. The laugh. The way her lips pressed together when she was trying not to react. The soft tilt of her head when she listened closely. The way she made everything blur except her.
She had carved a place in my thoughts without asking.
I didn't know what tonight meant.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
I didn't know why she hit me this hard, this fast, with no warning at all.
But I knew one thing with absolute clarity.
Whatever this was, it wasn't over.
And I would be damned if I let it be.
I watched her step out of the room and into the balcony. I wanted to let her be but my instinct told me to join her. So I did.