The night smelled like perfume and electricity.

Camera flashes burst against the dark like lightning, painting everyone in brief starlight. Laughter shimmered in the air, too loud, too bright. For a moment, I let it fill me—pretend this was everything we’d dreamed about. Senior prom. The night we’d been waiting for since we were fourteen.

And then I turned and really saw her.

Noa Mitchell, my best friend since the first grade. I watched her step out of the limo on Christopher Hawthorne’s arm, her emerald dress catching the light. Cameras turned instantly—hungry. Of course they did. She was his soulmate. The CCA’s miracle couple. The girl lucky enough to be loved by the boy who made the world believe in fate.

Once upon a time, that spotlight would’ve been mine.

I laughed too loudly at something my date, John, said, my hand looping through his arm like I was the star of my own story. But it was a lie. Honestly, I didn't even remember his last name. Every part of this night was a lie. Every flash, every gasp, every whisper wasn’t about me anymore. It was about them.

I caught the side-glances she gave Christopher—the small, nervous ones she thought no one saw. The way her shoulders tightened whenever his hand brushed hers. She looked tired. Haunted, almost. But still, she leaned toward him like he was oxygen. Maybe that’s what real love was supposed to look like. Or maybe that’s just what it looked like when you forgot who you were without someone else.

The air changed the second we stepped into the ballroom. Perfume hung heavy, glittering lights reflecting off sequins and champagne glasses. The hum of laughter and camera shutters wrapped around me like static. Hourglass centerpieces caught the light, scattering tiny galaxies across the tables. I smiled for photos, posed with friends, danced with John, but my eyes kept finding her.

Noa and Christopher. Always together. Whispering. Laughing. Like no one else existed.

I told myself I didn’t care. That I was fine. But the lie cracked a little each time she looked right past me.

When the music slowed, I couldn’t stand it anymore. My pulse thundered in my ears as I crossed the room. She was wrapped up in him, lost in whatever secret world they’d built between them. I lingered a second—watched her laugh at something he whispered—and felt something sharp twist in my chest. Then I tugged at her arm before I could talk myself out of it.

“I need a break,” I said, breathless. “Come with me?”

Her eyes darted toward Christopher before she nodded. “Sure.” She said it like an afterthought, like she needed his silent approval. The jealousy burned hotter for it.

We slipped outside, leaving the shimmer and noise behind. The air was warm, laced with honeysuckle and summer’s first breath. For a moment, it almost felt like the nights we used to sneak out and talk about everything and nothing at all. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. And she wasn’t, either.

She turned toward me, that polite, careful smile still painted on her lips. I hated it—the distance in it. The way it made me feel like a stranger.

“Noa, I’m not doing this again,” I said, arms crossed as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Not tonight. Watching you fake your way through the whole prom... You’ve been distant all night, and earlier too, when we were getting ready. It’s like you’re here—but not really here.”

“Ami… please don’t push.”

“I get that you and Christopher are soulmates or whatever,” I said, my voice tighter than I meant it to be. “But it feels like there’s no room for anyone else in your life anymore. What happened to us?”

She hesitated, eyes softening like she wanted to reach for me. “Ami, I’m sorry. I never meant to shut you out. It’s just—”

 

“I don’t care what it is, Noa. You should trust me enough to not keep pushing me away. Not after everything.”

I’d told myself I wouldn’t cry. Not tonight. Not over this. But my voice cracked anyway. She reached toward me, and I stepped back.

“Ami, please. I wish I could tell you everything. But I can’t.”

Something inside me splintered cleanly—like glass under pressure. “So do your promises mean nothing now? First it was ‘when you’re ready,’ now it’s ‘you can’t?’ Well, I don’t know if I can promise to keep pretending things are fine when they’re clearly not.”

Her eyes shimmered, and for a heartbeat, I almost softened. Almost.

“Ami, I love you. You’re my best friend. But there are some things I can’t share with you.”

The air thinned. The ache turned sharp—an ache that felt like her words reached the one thread I still had left tied to her. For a heartbeat, the world tilted, my chest tight with a pull that was almost unbearable. I wanted to reach for her, to let that love wrap around me the way it used to, to let myself believe it could still fix everything. But if I did, I’d never be able to let go. So I stood there, frozen between wanting her arms and knowing I couldn’t survive them.

“Then I hope you know what you’re doing. Because I’m done. Maybe after graduation, it’s best if we… go our separate ways.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I didn’t mean them... or maybe I did. I wasn’t sure anymore.

She flinched. I wanted her to fight for me. To say something. Anything. But she didn’t.
“Ami, please… I don’t want to lose you.”

My throat burned. I swallowed the lump hard enough to hurt. “I think you’ve already lost me.”

I walked away before I could change my mind. The door swung open, spilling gold light across the pavement as the ending notes of Fix You by Coldplay drifted through. Ironic. The sound clawed at my chest. I didn’t look back.

Inside, the crowd swallowed me whole again. Laughter, music, motion. I smiled too wide, grabbed someone’s flask without asking, and let the burn slide down my throat until it numbed everything. I forced small talk, fake laughs, a picture or two—trying to look like I belonged, like I hadn’t just broken in half inside. But each heartbeat felt heavier, slower, like my body knew the truth before I could admit it.

When I finally stepped back outside, the air was cool and sharp. The stars blurred overhead as I leaned against the brick wall, taking another sip. Warmth bloomed through me, lazy and false. I told myself I didn’t need her. Didn’t need anyone.

And then I saw them.

Noa and Christopher—dancing under the stars like something out of a fairytale. His hand on her waist. Her face tilted toward him, soft and unguarded in a way she never was with me.

I laughed under my breath, but it came out more like a choke. “Guess you don’t need me after all.”
The words tasted bitter. I took another drink to chase them down.

 

Camera flashes went off again somewhere behind me, catching on the tear I hadn’t realized was falling. The light fractured it into color before it disappeared. For a long time, I just stood there, breathing through the ache, pretending the world wasn’t tilting.

​

Inside that tear was more emotion than I knew how to process—thoughts I wish I didn’t have, ones I couldn’t escape.

In just a few months, my own Mark would reach zero. My supposed soulmate waiting somewhere out there. It was supposed to be the day every girl dreamed of, the day fate itself reached out to hand you your person. But all I could think about was her—how she’d met hers and somehow lost herself in the same breath. The whole idea of soulmates felt tainted now, cracked open and hollow. The dread in me grew, whispering that maybe fate was just another way to be abandoned, or to abandon somebody else.

I wiped my cheek and straightened, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite fit. “It’s fine,” I whispered to no one. “I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone.”

The lie tasted like metal—bitter, familiar, and final. I tipped my head back, letting the flask’s burn chase it down.