The days leading up to my 18th birthday were a blur of planning and quiet anxiety. I wasn't sure how I felt about celebrating at all. Aliya had been insistent—it would be the best party ever, especially since it was going to be at the local hotspot on the weekends - Underground nightclub. It's weird how I'll be having my first legal drink this weekend, rather than having to wait until I'm 21 like I always expected.
At first, I tried to protest. I wasn't sure I even wanted a party, and certainly not at a nightclub, but Aliya seemed too excited to take no for an answer. "Emma. Trust me. You'll love it," she said, like I had any choice in the matter.
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Friday night arrived, and I had spent what felt like forever picking the perfect dress—a simple black one that wasn't too daring but still felt grown-up. I paired it with elegant strappy stilettos, minimal makeup, and a black sparkly bag. My hair was curled just right. I didn't want to stand out too much, but I also wanted to feel like I belonged.
Aliya was already outside, beeping her horn with dramatic flair. She'd convinced my parents to meet us at the venue, saying she had a "gift" for me and that picking me up was part of her master plan.
I stepped outside, heels clicking on the pavement, heart fluttering with that mix of nerves and excitement. I opened the passenger door—and froze.
Waiting on the seat was a bright pink feather boa, a sparkling body banner that read Birthday Queen, a glittery plastic crown, and a little paper bag bursting with confetti and party favors.
"You're joking," I said, half-laughing, half-panicking.
Aliya just grinned from ear to ear, sunglasses on despite the sun having already set. "Absolutely not. You're wearing all of it. Tonight, we are celebrating properly."
I slid into the seat, the boa already shedding pink fluff onto my lap. The banner itched slightly against my arm as I fastened my seatbelt, and the crown, of course, was a little too big. But in that moment—with the music already thumping through the speakers and Aliya ready to take off into the night—it didn't matter.
Somehow, I knew this night would be unforgettable.
When we arrived at the club, I was immediately overwhelmed. The bass from the music hit me before I even stepped inside, and the interior was bathed in flashing neon lights. The place looked like something out of a high-end movie—sleek, polished, and ridiculously glamorous, dripping in gold and navy blue decorations. I wasn't sure if I was excited or nauseous.
As we walked in, I saw my parents waiting in a private booth by the VIP section, looking every bit the part of the professional, put-together couple they were. My mom was dressed in a deep red gown, her dark brown hair done in elegant waves, her smile wide but nervous as she waved at me. My dad, on the other hand, was in a suit, looking like he was trying to relax but failing miserably. I could tell he was already preparing for the inevitable conversations with some of the other dads, colleagues, and higher-ups who were here to mark the occasion.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart!" Mom greeted me warmly as I approached the booth. "You look lovely. How are you feeling?"
"Great," I lied. I glanced around at the group of other 18-year-olds, most of whom I didn't recognize. They were all talking in hushed voices, laughing over their drinks, clearly more comfortable in this club than I was.
Dad stood up and pulled me into a hug. "I can't believe you're 18 already," he said with a grin. "Feels like yesterday you were asking for permission to stay out past curfew."
I forced a smile, even as the anxiety bubbled up inside me.
Aliya re-appeared shortly after, beaming as she led me toward her group of friends. Her energy was a stark contrast to my own, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. She was at home in this world. She had that effortless confidence that made people gravitate toward her.
"Emma, you look amazing! Own it!" Aliya exclaimed, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music.
"Thanks," I said, my smile more genuine now that she was here.
The place was already starting to fill and it was only 7:30pm the air was thick with perfume and the sharp tang of vodka. I'd barely adjusted the crooked crown on my head when Aliya grabbed my wrist and pulled me straight to the bar.
"Right, it's happening. First shot!" she declared, already waving down a tray.
My stomach twisted. "I've never—"
"Exactly," she grinned. "Tonight's all about firsts."
A waiter walked past balancing a tray of shots—tiny, lethal-looking glasses filled with pink liquid. Without hesitation, Aliya snatched two.
"Here! Drink, bitch!" she laughed, pushing one into my hand.
I hesitated, the smell alone making my eyes water.
"It's a Woo Woo," she said, like that explained everything. "Vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice. Tastes like Ribena. Hits like a lorry."
Before I could chicken out, she clinked her glass against mine and shouted, "To growing up—but never growing old!"
She knocked hers back with ease. I copied her, barely managing to swallow without coughing. It burned in a way that was both awful and weirdly exciting. I laughed, eyes watering.
"There she is!" Aliya whooped, pulling me into a hug before spinning off toward the dance floor, all glitter and chaos.
I stood there for a second, the world tilted just slightly. The lights were brighter now, the music louder, the room warmer.
I found myself smiling, actually smiling.
And then I felt it—eyes on me.
I looked across the crowd, and there he was.
Ethan.
Leaning against the wall near the DJ booth, whisky glass in hand, his gaze locked on me. He wasn't smiling. Just watching. Quiet, unreadable, and somehow impossible to ignore.
I looked away quickly, heart hammering.
Aliya reappeared and yanked me onto the floor. I let her, the beat pulsing through my bones, my boa flaring out like a flamingo in a wind tunnel. I danced. Properly danced. Not the safe, side-step shuffle I always did, but full-on, hands-up, eyes-closed dancing.
And for the first time in what felt like forever—I wasn't thinking about how I looked.
I was thinking about how alive I felt.
And maybe—just maybe—whether Ethan was still watching.
But just as I was starting to feel a little more at ease, I caught sight of Ethan.
He was standing near the bar, looking every bit as effortless and composed as he always seemed. His dark jacket contrasted against the bright lights, and he seemed to be surveying the room, his eyes scanning the crowd. For a second, our gazes met, and my stomach flipped.
Aliya noticed where my attention was and followed my gaze.
"Oh, you'll be seeing plenty of him tonight," she said with a smirk. "Try not to let him intimidate you, or his friends." She added as an afterthought.
I wasn't sure whether she was trying to tease me or warn me, but I didn't have time to figure it out before she pulled me into the VIP booth where my parents and her friends sat.
The first few hours of the night passed in a blur of introductions, polite smiles, and small talk. I was seated with the other 18-year-olds, some of whom were already half-drunk and acting like they owned the place. Their dads, all friends of my dad, chatted in the corner, exchanging stories and laughing loudly.
Every now and then, I caught sight of Ethan, who was always surrounded by his friends and giggling girls in the tiniest dresses ive ever seen, I could easily see tomorrow's laundry on all the girls. Yuck. Ethan was looking more like the host than anyone else. But he didn't seem interested in me at all, and I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or disappointed.
"Emma, come on, it's your birthday!" Aliya urged, pulling me away from the booth. "Let's hit the dance floor."
I was hesitant at first, but Aliya was too convincing, and soon I found myself in the center of the room, surrounded by flashing lights and music. Despite my nerves, I couldn't help but get caught up in the rhythm, moving to the beat, trying to shake off the pressure of the night.
After a few songs, a group of guys joined us, some of them I recognised from Ethan's friend group. They did try speaking to me but I couldn't hear them over the loud music. After a beat, Aliya pulled me toward the bar for a drink. "Don't worry about it, okay?" she said, her eyes scanning the room. "You're doing great. Enjoy yourself." Strange, I didn't think I was worrying, I was enjoying myself, until I followed her gaze to the bar and onto Ethan's face, who looked fuming.
Standing there, stiff and tense, his piercing blue eyes locked on me. There was something in his gaze—something calculating—and I felt a chill run through me. I wasn't sure what it was, but I could sense his attention wasn't just idle curiosity.
"Everything alright?" Aliya asked, noticing my sudden discomfort.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I muttered, though my heart was racing. Ethan didn't look away. He didn't have to. There was something about the way he watched me that made me feel like I was being sized up, as if I were some kind of puzzle he was trying to figure out.
"Maybe we should go back to the booth," I said quickly, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. Aliya raised an eyebrow but didn't argue, leading me back to where my parents were sitting.
For the next hour, I stayed by their side, sipping my drink, trying to avoid making eye contact with Ethan. It was easy enough at first. The conversation was light, the music was loud, and the crowd seemed to shift, making the space feel less suffocating.
But then, of course, Ethan made his way over to our booth.
"Emma," he said, his voice smooth as silk.
I looked up, and there it was—his smirk. The one that seemed to get under my skin. "Having fun?" he asked, as though he already knew the answer.
I couldn't hide the annoyance that bubbled up inside me. "It's a party," I said flatly, wishing I could make my discomfort go away. "What else would I be doing?"
I have no idea where my bravery comes from, or my attitude to be able to speak to someone this way, but ever since our first and only encounter, he makes me feel a way I can't describe, and it unsettles me.
Ethan's eyes glinted with amusement, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned against the booth, studying me in a way as if I was on display.
"You're not the clubbing type, are you?" he said finally, a challenge in his tone.
"I've only just turned 18," I shot back, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
Ethan's smile widened just slightly. "We'll see how you feel in a couple hours."
I didn't like the sound of that, but before I could respond, Aliya stepped in, dragging me away again. "Haven't you got enough to google at" she spat at her brother, pointing with her chin to the group of girls that had been stuck to him all night, slowly edging closer to our booth.