It washim.
Her heart clenched so hard it hurt.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, scanning the room like he was searching for something—or someone. His shoulders tensed. His mouth pressed into a nervous line as other students glanced his way, curious.
Riya’s fingers dug into her palms, a hundred instincts warring inside her: Go to him, hide, pretend she hadn’t seen,run.
Seven months had passed—agonizingly slowly. Seven months of silence andwondering.
And now—
Their eyes met across the dance floor. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Slowly, he made his way toward her, weaving through the crowd.
And Riya stayed rooted, heart hammering against her ribs. Bracing.
Because what if he still didn’t remember? What if everything they’d fought for had forever slipped away, despite all their efforts?
He stopped a few feet away—close enough to speak. Far enough to leave, if he had to.
“Hey,” he said, voice rougher, more uncertain than she remembered. “...Riya.”
The sound of her name in his mouth nearly undid her.
“That’s me. Can I help you?”
She’d spent months imagining this moment—what she’d say, what he’d say.
Was he still writing music? Did he get into Berklee?
Was he happy?
Kian’s gaze flicked across the ballroom, the ivy, the fairy lights, the dancing couples.
“Can I—can I ask you something?” he said, his voice dropping slightly.
“Sure,” she said, wary.
“I’m Kian. Kian Kho?” He paused, like he wasn’t sure what came next. “Wait, that’s not really a question. But, I don’t know if—the thing is, I’ve been out of school for a while. It’s... complicated.”
“...I know who you are,” she replied, keeping her expression neutral. “Besides, I remember your performance. From the Talent Show.”
“Oh. Right.” He frowned faintly. “The Talent Show. A lot of details that night are hazy. Feels like it happened to someone else.”
Riya’s hands clenched at her sides. So that was it. He didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t. She knew—
But then Kian took a tentative step closer.
“Anyway, would you... maybe want to dance?” he asked quietly.
Riya blinked.
“I mean, you don’t have to,” he added quickly, a flush creeping up his neck. “It’s, whatever. I just figured—Prom, you know?”
Riya took a breath. It hurt. All of this hurt. They were strangers now.
And yet—the way he looked at her—hopeful, tentative—stirred something reckless and aching inside her.
