Luna was looking at me.
My heart kicked.
The music dimmed; a shoulder brushed mine. I turned—Nathan.
In high school, his pursuit had been a public performance. I'd been all books and ambition then—polite, firm, final.
Two years out, he'd shed the softness. A tailored suit hung well on him; his jawline was sharper, his smile measured.
"Evelyn," he said. The name sounded rehearsed. "Long time. I heard about the wedding."
"Next month."
He nodded once. "Congratulations."
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes—old, raw, quickly masked.
I gave the tiniest shake of my head.
Not you.
Luna leaned in, her breath a whisper against my ear.
"He still loves you."
A pause. Then, almost absently,
"Is my brother-in-law even more impressive?"
I didn't answer.
—
A few nights later, Daniel was coming over.
My fiancé. We'd lived together until last week, when he moved temporarily closer to his office for a final project sprint. We hadn't seen each other in days. Tonight, he finally had a window.
His text said he'd be late. Not to wait with dinner.
I showered, wrapped myself in a robe, and stepped into the quiet apartment. Only one lamp glowed in the living room. From the kitchen came the soft sound of cloth on tile—Luna, cleaning, as always.
The lock clicked.
I was in the bedroom, towel-drying my hair.
Hearing his footsteps—familiar, unhurried—I paused the dryer. On impulse, I turned off the light, cracked the door, and slipped out behind him.
He toed off his shoes and walked in.
The living room lay in deep shadow. Warm yellow light spilled from the kitchen.
Luna stood with her back to the doorway, wringing out a cloth.
She wore loungewear nearly identical to mine.
And her hair—when had it gotten so short? The cut, the fall, the way it brushed her nape—it was mine.
From behind, in that half-light, her silhouette was a perfect echo.
He walked straight up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.
Fluid. Unthinking.
"Why's it so dark in here?" he murmured.
His chin settled against the crown of her head. His voice was his—but the lilt, the ease, the private cadence… that was mine.
I stopped breathing.
"Daniel."
My voice was thin, frayed.
He jerked back as if scalded. Spun around.
"Evelyn?!"
Luna flinched away. A flush rose from her throat to her temples. She didn't speak. Only her eyes filled—quick, bright, brimming.
Daniel went pale.
"I'm sorry," he stammered. "God, Evelyn, I'm so sorry. It was dark—I didn't see—I thought it was you."
I stood there.
My pulse hammered—uneven, frantic.
"It's fine," I said. Nothing else came.