In the next few days, I became very much a part of Samual's friend circle. Wherever he'd go, he insisted on me tagging along with them. And I would, despite myself.
Samuel's friends had insisted on showing Lena and me a "welcome to New Columbia" night. A rooftop bar, glittering with strings of fairy lights, glass railings overlooking the skyline, champagne flutes in every hand.
I felt wrong the second I stepped in. My worn sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, old worn out jacket sticking out like a billboard announcing my failure to belong. Lena moved through the crowd effortlessly, laughing, radiant, completely at ease in this dazzling world.
Samuel strolled beside her, charming everyone, his smile a weapon that disarmed even the most jaded. He waved at someone, nodded here, whispered a joke there. And all the while, I felt the quiet pressure of him measuring me. Whether it's my accent, my clothes, or my very presence.
"Come on, Ash," Lena said, tugging gently at my sleeve. "Don't just stand there. Try the mocktails. They're amazing."
I nodded, tried a smile, and lifted a sparkling drink to my lips. It was sweet, too sweet, but I kept it down, forcing myself to blend in.
Samuel appeared beside me. "Not bad," he said, casually. "Most people get nervous in front of cameras or… crowds like this. You're handling it." His tone was friendly, but I couldn't trust if it's genuine.
I glanced at him. Was he testing me? Judging me? Or both? Lena's eyes sparkled nearby, caught up in laughter and photos, oblivious to my turmoil.
One of Samuel's friends nudged me. "Don't worry, man. You're cool. Lena wouldn't bring anyone boring around."
I forced a nod. Their words were meant to comfort, but the undertone stung. Boring. Out of place. Cheap.
I looked out over the skyline, neon reflections dancing on the glass, feeling my pulse against the weight in my chest.
They lived a life I could never touch, a life built from privilege and opportunity and effortless charm. But I would stay. I would endure. All of it. Just to be near her.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
I pushed open the door to Alice's flat, the familiar squeak of the hinge greeting me like a whisper of relief. The day had been long, the rooftop party, Samuel's laughter, distance from Lena, they all clung to my skin.
Alice was sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She looked up, smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Well, look who survived the glamorous trap without falling apart completely," she said, voice half teasing, half serious.
"I… I think I did," I muttered, dropping my bag near the door. My shoulders felt heavier than they should.
She gestured to the kitchen. "Sit. Eat something. You're walking around like a ghost of a soldier from World War II."
I laughed, even though the sound felt hollow. She tossed me a granola bar, rolling her eyes.
"You know, Ash," she said, leaning back against the couch, "as long as the stomach is full, everything else is easier to deal with."
I swallowed. Her words hit differently. Honest. Real. "Thanks… for the job at the bookstore," I said. "I'll start tomorrow."
Alice shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't let the rich kids make you hate yourself. They're drama in suits and designer shoes. Nothing more."
I felt the weight in my chest lighten just a fraction. Small laughter bubbled between us as we cooked a simple dinner: veggie stir-fry, tofu, a dash of humor in every move. I chopped. She burned something. I teased. She yelled. The flat smelled like garlic and soy sauce and home, and finally that day, I felt like I could breathe.
When we sat down, plates balanced on our knees, she leaned back and smirked. "Okay, now remember the plan. Bills, chores, emotional support. Split everything fifty-fifty. If you cry in the kitchen, I get first dibs on tissues."
I grinned. "Deal."
We laughed, the noise filling the small flat, pushing back against the chaos outside.
Sometimes, safety isn't a place. It's a person. And maybe this person could be the only home I'd ever need in a city that feels too big to breathe.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The next morning, I started working at the bookstore.
My employer, Ms. Rosaline, was a British lady in her sixties. Sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and full of stories that sounded half made-up and half true. She had this strict-grandma aura, but underneath it, she was the kind of person who remembered your favorite tea and asked how you were really doing.
Maybe that's why working for her felt easy. Familiar, even.
When she learned that I was an aspiring writer, her eyes lit up like she'd just discovered buried treasure. Out of sheer curiosity, or maybe mischief, she made me bring in some of my poems and short stories. After reading them, she scolded me for keeping them to myself and insisted I send them to local magazines or at least post them online.
I'm not sure why I hadn't thought of that before. Maybe I was too used to writing only for one person.
I was shelving books that afternoon when my phone buzzed.
A message.
Lena.
My pulse quickened before I could stop it. I wiped my palms on my apron and opened it.
Lena: Hey.
There's a small thing tomorrow. Samuel's birthday.
Just a few people, nothing too fancy.
You should come.
For a second, I just stared at her name glowing on the screen. Of all invitations, hers was the last one I expected.
Ash: I don't think that's a good idea.
Pretty sure I'm not on Samuel's guest list.
Lena: He doesn't mind. I asked him first.
It'd just be nice to see you again.
That line twisted something inside me. Nice to see you again. Like we were old classmates, not people who used to be everything to each other.
Ash: I don't know.
Feels… weird.
Lena: I get that.
But maybe it doesn't have to be.
We're adults now, right?
Her words were soft, careful. Like she was stepping around something fragile, maybe both of us.
Ash: You sure Samuel's fine with it?
Last thing I want is to walk into the wrong room.
Lena: He's fine.
It's just a small thing. Music, people talking, cake.
You don't have to stay long.
I sighed. She made it sound harmless. But nothing involving her ever felt harmless.
Ash: I'll think about it.
Lena: Think faster. It'd mean a lot if you came.
I stared at that message longer than I should have. It'd mean a lot.
She didn't have to say why. I could already feel the silence between her words.
I swallowed hard, thumb trembling over the screen.
Ash: Fine. I'll come.
Just for a bit.
Lena: That's enough.
Thank you, Ash.
Immediately, regret flooded me, but I couldn't stop it. I had no choice but to see her, even if it meant stepping into a room where every smile, every toast, every clink of champagne glasses would be a reminder of everything I had lost.
I set my phone down, but the message stayed burning in my mind.
Her tone had changed; gentle, but distant. Like she was trying to keep the peace while pretending the past didn't exist.
That night, I lay awake in Alice's flat, staring at the ceiling. I could already picture the lights, the laughter, the people…
and her beside him.
"This isn't just a party," I whispered into the dark. "It's a battlefield."
Tomorrow, I will walk into it unarmed.