Evening draped itself over the city like silk, warm and golden, slipping through the tall windows of a luxurious room.
Inside, Layla lay sprawled across a king-sized bed, her back against the mattress, legs lazily crossed in the air. She scrolled through Instagram with half-lidded eyes, her thumb gliding in a steady rhythm as she mumbled under her breath.
"Not handsome... nope... ugh, definitely not..."
A sudden shriek tore through the calm like a knife.
"Layla!"
The voice cracked like a whip. Layla winced, bolting upright as if struck by lightning. In a flash, she sprang off the bed and dashed into the bathroom like a kid who just got caught red-handed.
"I knew you were gonna be late!" Sarah, Layla's best friend snorted as she bashed into the room, arms crossed and lips pursed with mock fury. Her best friend's dramatic antics were nothing new—but they were always entertaining.
"I'm taking my bath!" Layla hollered from behind the door, voice slightly muffled.
"Liar!" sarah called out with a smirk, striding over to Layla's open wardrobe. Her fingers expertly flipped through sleek dresses and shimmering fabrics, eventually pulling out the perfect outfit for the night.
Moments later, the bathroom door creaked open. Layla stepped out, a vision in motion. Her damp brown hair clung to her neck, strands veiling the left side of her porcelain face. Her skin glowed under the soft amber lighting, almost ethereal, while her hazel eyes searched the room like they were looking for something… or someone.
Sarah blinked, momentarily stunned by her friend's beauty.
"Wish I was a guy," Sarah joked, staring at Layla. "You'd make a stunning damsel in distress."
Layla rolled her eyes with a half-smile and reached for the hair dryer. "Oh, please. You'd still be bossing me around."
As Layla began to dry her hair, Sarah urged her to hurry. "We're going to be late!" she said, tapping her foot impatiently.
Sarah's concern for Layla went beyond punctuality, though. She hated watching Layla drift from one nightstand to another, chasing sparks in places that only ever left her cold. She knew the truth—the smiles, the flirty giggles, the rebellious sass—it was all a mask. A flimsy cover for the loneliness Layla refused to acknowledge.
What Sarah knew, but didn't say out loud, was that Layla's carefree facade hid a deeper pain. Layla often pretended to be happy, using her childlike antics to mask her true emotions. But Sarah saw through the act, and her concern for her friend's well-being only grew stronger.
*
*
*
The bass throbbed like a pulse through the walls of Velvet Room, the hottest rooftop club in the city. A lazy fog of cigarette smoke drifted near the open-air balconies, while strobe lights sliced through the darkness, illuminating flashes of silver heels, slick suits, and lipstick-stained champagne flutes.
Layla stepped out of the elevator and into a blur of lights and movement. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the sound quickly swallowed by the music. She was wrapped in midnight blue satin, a dress Sarah had chosen—one that dipped low at the back and hugged her curves with liquid precision. Her hazel eyes swept over the crowd as she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her face unreadable.
Sarah trailed close behind, eyes scanning for familiar faces—or red flags.
"Shots first, boys later," she declared, grabbing Layla by the wrist and towing her toward the bar.
Layla smirked. "You act like those two things aren't connected."
They downed tequila with salt and a slice of lime, and for a moment, everything blurred into warm laughter and rhythmic beats. Layla danced, her movements fluid and captivating, drawing stares like a flame draws moths. But there was no spark behind her smile. Not yet.
Then came the moment.
He stepped into her periphery like he'd always belonged there.
Harry Jones.
Tall, sharp, and dressed in tailored black, he didn't look like the type who came to clubs to lose himself in cheap thrills. There was something too still about him—like the eye of a storm. His dark hair was tousled in a way that suggested effortless rebellion, and a half-smirk played on his lips as if he'd just heard something amusing and wasn't going to share the joke.
Layla noticed him when he didn't look at her—when his gaze moved past her, lingering not in awe, but in quiet interest. That subtlety made her pause.
They locked eyes moments later, and time thinned like a stretched wire.
She didn't smile. Neither did he.
And yet, there was a recognition there. As if both of them had lived a thousand nights like this and knew it was all empty—except maybe, just maybe, this time.
Sarah nudged her. "Do not make that face."
"What face?" Layla replied, not tearing her gaze away.
"The one that says you're about to do something reckless."
"I'm not," Layla murmured, already walking toward him. "I already did."
Harry met her halfway, stopping just close enough that the music between them became white noise.
"You don't look like you belong here," Layla said.
His lips twitched. "Neither do you."
"I fake it better."
"I believe that."
She offered her hand. "Layla."
Her hand hovered in the air for a second longer than expected.
Harry took it, eventually—but it wasn't smooth. It wasn't warm. His grip was cool, almost hesitant, like someone trying not to get too close to an open flame.
"Layla," he repeated, as if tasting the name to see if he liked the way it sounded.
For a beat, they stood in the neon wash of violet and red, two strangers suspended in curiosity. Then the tension shifted—almost imperceptibly, but there.
Harry's gaze drifted across her face, sharp and calculated now. Something behind his eyes closed, like a door gently shut.
Layla tilted her head, sensing the change. "Something wrong?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're not what I expected."
"Is that a good thing?"
He looked past her then, out toward the rooftop skyline, jaw tight.
"No," he said quietly. "It's not."
Layla blinked, caught off guard. "Well, you're a real charmer."
"You're too loud," he said, voice flat. "Not literally. Just… you fill a room."
She scoffed, folding her arms. "Sorry for existing, I guess."
"That's not what I meant." He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck as if frustrated by something unspoken. "You come in with this glow, like the whole place needs to revolve around you. People like that burn out fast."
Layla's expression hardened. "People like what, exactly?"
Harry's eyes finally met hers again. Something pained flickered in his face—quick, raw, then buried beneath a cool indifference.
"Beautiful people with sad eyes pretending to be fireworks."
She felt like he'd ripped the mask clean off her face. No warning. No permission.
Her jaw clenched. "Screw you."
Harry gave a slow exhale, stepping back. "Yeah. That's probably fair."
And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the pulsing dark and strobe lights, leaving Layla standing alone by the bar with her heart thudding—not from the music, but from something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Embarrassment. Anger. And the sting of being seen—too clearly, too quickly.
She laughed once under her breath, bitter and sharp.
"Asshole." She mumbled.
But somewhere, deep in her chest, she wondered why it still hurt when he left.
She didn't know his name. Didn't need to. Her pulse answered a question she hadn't asked.
"Why did she ache for him like that? It couldn't be love, not at first glance. Why does her heart thrashed in her chest as if it knew something she didn't.
"Yes, this was love at for sight but not the kind she understood. It crept in quiet, electric, like a memory she never lived, yet somehow missed."
"So, what did you guys talk about?" Sarah asked, cutting into Layla's thoughts like a knife.
Layla blinked, trying to shake him off. "Uhm... He's just a dick," she muttered, biting her lip, the ghost of his touch still tingling on her skin.
Sarah raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Hmm. Your eyes say otherwise."
Layla's gaze hardens for a moment, defensive — but it crumbles too fast. She sighs.
"I don't know, okay. He's... complicated." Layla sighed.
"Aren't they all?" Sarah asked. "Okay, you know what, just pretend like you never saw that dude and let's go look for another," she added with forced cheer, brushing her hair behind her ear. But Layla shook her head.
"I want to go home."
"What?" Sarah blinked.