Mason
I don't fully understand why it bothers me. Maybe it's not even anger—just a sharp twinge, like a cold current running through me when I see them, Vanessa and Connor, talking across the table. From my corner, the café light feels dimmer, as if the world has shrunk to the flicker of candles and the clink of cups against porcelain.
I don't know if it's jealousy, though the word slips in, insidious, between my thoughts. I barely know Vanessa; we've exchanged a few phrases, glances that dance between politeness and curiosity. And yet, every laugh she shares with Connor hits me in a way I can't name. Maybe it's isolation—that feeling of being outside, looking through a fogged-up window, knocking on the door of a conversation I wasn't invited to.
I watch them, not out of some twisted curiosity, but because I can't help it. Vanessa leans in, says something quietly, and Connor smiles like the entire universe is contained in that corner. Meanwhile, I stir my cold coffee, searching the bitterness at the bottom for some kind of answer. Is it that I mind not belonging—or does it hurt more not to be the reason for that smile? Is it Vanessa, with her tied-up curls and words that always feel new? Or is it just the fear of being outside, invisible, just another shadow against the wall?
I try not to look, but their reflection in the window betrays me. I don't know if this is jealousy or loneliness—or some messy mix of both. Maybe it's just the echo of something old, a wound that never quite healed. Maybe it's not about Vanessa or Connor at all, but about me—and the long habit of feeling apart.
Vanessa gets up to go to the bathroom, and Connor disappears into the blue glow of his phone. The café's buzz wraps around me, but I feel more alone than ever. I wish I understood why this hurts, why words come and go in my head without finding rest.
When Vanessa returns, her gaze meets mine for a brief moment, and something soft, indescribable flickers in her eyes. I don't know if I imagined it or if it was real—but I hold onto that flicker like someone guarding a spark in the rain.
Maybe I'll never fully understand it. Maybe I'll always be searching for a name for this feeling. But on this night of coffee and breeze, surrounded by other people's laughter and my own silence, I accept that some emotions simply exist—even if we don't know where they come from or where they're going.
After leaving the café, Connor's words still float in the air as we step into the night, wrapped in cool air and the promise of something ahead. The city greets us with blinking lights, distant murmurs, and the echo of music spilling from an open window. We walk in a loose line, but the space between me and the rest of the group feels heavy—a tense silence no one dares to break.
Vanessa walks beside Wenn, whispering jokes and sharing glances that vanish into the shadows of the trees. I keep my hands in my pockets, head down, steps measured—as if each one brings me closer to or further from something I can't quite define. Connor leads the way, pointing out the club lights in the distance, and for a moment, everyone speeds up, caught in the promise of celebration.
Inside, the music wraps around us—vibrant, pulsing with the energy of something new. The atmosphere is different, charged with expectation and stories yet to be told. Lights spin, laughter blends into a chaotic choreography. I slip toward the bar, order a drink, and find refuge in the clinking of ice against glass.
Then I feel her beside me—Vanessa sits down, and for a few seconds, neither of us says a word.
"I thought you preferred coffee," she jokes, with that open smile that could dismantle any defense.
I shrug, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Sometimes you need something stronger," I reply—and there's a hidden confession in that line.
The night moves on, the music grows louder, and slowly, the walls begin to dissolve. Between neon lights and hesitant words, I allow myself—just for a moment—to stop fighting myself. Because sometimes, belonging isn't about proximity. It's about the courage to stay, even when you're not sure you fit.
With all the courage I can gather—and maybe with a little help from the alcohol—I ask, "Why did you laugh?"
I didn't know if I wanted the answer or feared it. But the question came out on its own, like my silence couldn't hold it anymore.
She looks at me for a moment that feels eternal. Just as she's about to speak, Connor makes his grand entrance and drags her to the dance floor without a word. Vanessa shoots him a murderous look, and to my surprise, Mason—me—just watches, frozen.
She throws me a small, knowing glance—a promise that our conversation isn't over. Then she shoves Connor with all her strength, laughs, and accepts the unexpected, unwanted invitation to dance.
From my corner, between lights and music, I stayed on the shoreline. I didn't cross. But for the first time, I felt someone looking back from the other side.