The party was technically over.
Most of the guests had left—sugar crashing, laughter dying, music faded into chill background tracks. But the air still held a strange kind of electricity. Like something hadn't quite finished yet.
Sofia Hart stood in the middle of her living room, barefoot now, drink in hand, cheeks flushed from dancing. Her crop hoodie was rumpled, and the glitter tattoo on her collarbone had half-smudged into a star-shaped mess.
"Well," she mumbled, "I threw the party of the semester."
To no one in particular.
The LED lights were still glowing, but dimmer.
Emma had already left.
Tyler and Iris were gone, walking out together with casual comfort that made something in Sofia twitch for a moment.
Noah had fallen asleep in her guest room with one sock off and an uneaten cupcake on his chest.
Sofia paced.
She was buzzed, not drunk. But something was buzzing in her chest that had nothing to do with soda or sweets.
It had been fun.
It had been chaotic.
It had been… lonely.
She turned toward the back of the room where a second-year guy was still hanging around—tall, quiet, had been eyeing her since the second round of truth-or-dare.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, a lazy smile on his face.
"So," he said. "No more games?"
Sofia tilted her head. "Depends. You still playing?"
He chuckled.
"Only if you are."
They talked. About nothing.
His name was Ethan, maybe. Or Evan. She didn't really catch it.
She laughed at his jokes. Flirted. Leaned in just enough.
He complimented her twice—once on her lips, once on her laugh.
She didn't even blink.
Then they danced.
It was slow, off-rhythm, awkward in the charming way that after-parties always were.
His hands were warm on her waist. Her fingers rested lightly on his collar.
He leaned forward.
Sofia didn't stop him.
Not immediately.
His breath grazed hers.
And just before their lips touched—
She stepped back.
"Sorry," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He blinked. "Something wrong?"
Sofia smiled. Not coy. Not flirty. Just… tired.
"You're not who I want to kiss."
He opened his mouth, then nodded.
"Fair enough."
And like that, he grabbed his coat and left.
Sofia stood there in the fading lights, arms folded now, eyes distant.
Later, she stood in her bathroom staring at her reflection.
Her lip gloss was smudged. Glitter smeared down her neck. One earring missing.
She looked like the life of the party.
She didn't feel like it.
Sofia touched her own lips and let out a short laugh.
"Still loyal to a guy who never even asked," she said aloud.
She washed her face.
The water was cold.
On her private Insta story—where only her closest circle could see—she posted a blurry shot of her living room.
Captioned:
Party's over. Still felt like someone was missing.
Only one person had ever replied to those kinds of stories before.
And he hadn't been online in weeks.
Sofia curled up on her bed, hoodie swapped for pyjamas, room dim except for the phone screen still glowing in her hand.
She typed a message.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
Then locked her phone and set it face down.
"You idiot," she murmured, "I would've kissed you."
Silence.
The kind that only happens when you've said something too late.