Gwen leaned in, elbows pressing to the table. “And what did he say?”
I traced the rim of my glass with my fingertip, gathering the words slowly, aware of how fragile they sounded when spoken aloud. “Not much. He called me Miss Carter. Asked if I had writer’s block.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. The pause that followed wasn’t empty, it was thick, weighted with the kind of attention that felt almost invasive.
“And how did that make you feel?” Gwen asked softly.
I exhaled, a sound that trembled more than I wanted it to. “As if he saw straight through me. And then walked away.”
“Cold?” Gwen guessed.
“Not cold,” I said, shaking my head. “Worse. Detached. He measured the moment, decided it meant nothing, and left.”
Aster tilted her head, her tone gentler, but her eyes gleamed with mischief. “Did you want him to stay?”
I frowned, caught off guard. “Of course not,” I said quickly, too quickly. “He’s my professor, for one. And older. At least ten years, maybe more.”
Gwen let out a low whistle, the corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smirk. “Older, huh?” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So what? That’s not exactly a dealbreaker. If anything, that’s a perk.”
Aster’s laugh was soft, but wicked. “She’s right. You know what they say, older men don’t rush. They… take their time.”
I groaned. “Oh my God. Stop.”
Gwen only grinned wider. “What? It’s true. They know what they’re doing, Edie. Experience and patience, that’s a dangerous combination.”
Aster nodded solemnly, her lips twitching. “Academic precision extends to more than grading essays, apparently.”
I covered my face with my hands, trying not to laugh. “You two are disgusting.”
“Realistic,” Gwen countered. “Besides, the way you’re blushing tells me we’re not entirely wrong.”
I dropped my hands and glared half-heartedly. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Admit it,” Aster teased, raising her glass. “If he weren’t your professor, you’d at least think about it.”
I shot her a look, but the protest that rose to my lips faltered before it found air. Gwen saw it, and grinned like she’d won something.
“Thought so,” she said, smug. “The quiet ones always have the dirtiest imaginations.”
I shook my head, but laughter spilled out anyway, quiet and unwilling. “I hate you both.”
“Lies,” Aster said sweetly, clinking her glass against mine. “You adore us. Now drink, before you start overthinking again.”
Her words struck something raw, the truth of them echoing louder than the music. I swallowed hard. Aster nudged my arm then, her smirk breaking the heaviness.
I blinked, caught between disbelief and a reluctant laugh. “What?”
“You heard her,” Gwen said, already on her feet with the grace of someone born to mischief. “Melancholy’s fatal. Dance or perish.”
“You’re both impossible,” I muttered, but Aster was already tugging me toward the open space where the bar bled into the dance floor.
The music swelled, dark synth and bass that pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath my skin. The lights dimmed to amber and violet, soft enough to blur the edges of everything. The air thickened with movement, perfume, and rhythm.
Aster disappeared first, melting into the crowd as though it parted for her. She laughed, hips swaying in effortless sync with the music, catching the gaze of a man whose entire posture saidtrouble. Gwen followed, elegant and composed, her movements fluid, the gleam of her rings scattering gold under the shifting lights.
And for the first time that day, the noise in my head began to fade, not because it quieted, but because the world around me finally grew louder.
And me?
