"She kept finding him in the corners, and she didn't know why. But her heart was starting to understand." ~ Unknown
"Why are you sitting here alone? Don't you want to join the fun? We're singing and playing games."
He glanced toward the front, where a few classmates were attempting a chaotic rendition of a pop song. "I'm bored with card games, and I don't like to sing."
"It feels like you're being left out."
He met her eyes. "I prefer to be left out."
She blinked, surprised by it.
"Fine," she said. "But if you need anything, you can tell me. And you're welcome to join anytime." She paused, her voice softening. "I also wanted to thank you. For last night. I had fun."
He nodded once. " I also had fun. No need to say thank you."
She held his gaze a moment longer, then stood. "Alright. I'm going now. Bye."
"Bye."
She walked back to her friends, but her mind lingered on the quiet certainty in his voice. I prefer to be left out. She wondered what it must be like to be so comfortable in your own company that crowds became optional, not necessary.
The van pulled into the street food district an hour later. The market was a chaos of smells and colors, grilled meat, fried dough, the sharp tang of pickled vegetables. Michael hung back as the group surged toward the first stall, his camera already in hand.
He moved through the crowd like a ghost, unnoticed, his lens catching what others overlooked: a vendor wiping sweat from his brow, a child clutching a balloon, the steam rising from a pot of broth. When the group paused to take a group photo, he positioned himself at the edge, framing his classmates against the backdrop of a painted mural.
Selina watched him from across the street, her skewer of grilled meat forgotten in her hand.
They ate until they couldn't eat anymore. Then they walked through the shopping district, letting digestion do its work.
By evening, they were back at the hotel, changing for the night ahead. The group had decided on a club, something upscale. Most of the girls emerged in sleek dresses and heels; the boys in button-ups and polished shoes.
Michael didn't change. He wore the same dark jeans and black shirt from earlier, the top button still open, his cross locket resting against his skin. A few others had opted out as well, and no one commented.
The club was loud. The group claimed a long table near the back, and within minutes, most of them had migrated to the dance floor. Selina went with them, her laughter bright under the strobes.
Michael was near the bar, a glass in his hand, watching the crowd with the same quiet attention he'd given the street market. When the song shifted to something slower, he moved to an empty table and sat down, his drink untouched.
Selina found him there a few minutes later, her cheeks flushed, her hair escaping from its clip. She slid into the seat beside him and signalled the waiter for something cold.
"You don't drink?" She nodded toward his glass, a virgin mojito, mint leaves crushed against the ice.
"No."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising. Almost everyone drinks now. So do you just not like it, or is there a reason?"
"I've never tried it." He turned his glass in his hands, watching the liquid catch the light. "And I don't want to."
"How would you know if you've never tried?" She wasn't mocking; her voice was genuinely curious, the same tone she might use to ask about a book she hadn't read.
"I don't like the smell." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "And I don't like the idea of losing control over myself."
She let that settle; the noise in the background seemed distant.
"Then do you hate the people who drink?" she asked hesitantly, looking at her own glass.
"No." He shook his head slowly. "I don't like it, but I don't hate them." A pause. "I just know it's not for me."
Selina leaned back in her chair, studying him. There was no judgment in his voice, no self-righteousness. Just a quiet certainty of a man who had decided who he was.
"That's interesting," she said finally.
He tilted his head. "What is?"
"You." She smiled, a little helpless, a little wondering. "You're interesting."
Before he could respond, her friends called her name, waving from the dance floor. She stood, reluctant, and gave him a small wave. "I'll see you later."
"See you."
They left the club at midnight, the group spilling out into the cool night air. The streets were quieter now.