The club was drenched in pulsing violet and gold lights, the kind that made everything feel unreal—like the world had softened at the edges. Music thundered through the speakers, the bass vibrating beneath Elena's feet, but none of it reached the quiet ache settled deep in her chest.
She shouldn't have come out alone.
She knew that.
But the dorm had been too quiet. Too empty. The silence had pressed in on her until she'd grabbed the first outfit that didn't feel like pajamas and told herself she just needed noise. People. Movement. Anything to stop thinking.
Now she sat tucked into a corner booth, one leg crossed over the other, fingers wrapped loosely around a half-empty glass. Ice clinked softly as she shifted, the sound oddly loud compared to how distant everything else felt.
She wasn't really there. Not mentally.
Her gaze drifted lazily over the crowd—bodies swaying, laughter spilling freely, couples leaning close like they belonged to each other. She felt separate from it all, like she was watching through a pane of glass.
Then something changed.
She didn't hear him approach.
She felt him.
"Elena."
The sound of her name cut cleanly through the music.
Her head lifted slowly, brows knitting together as confusion washed over her. He stood just outside the booth, tall and still, shadows clinging to him like he'd stepped out of them. His eyes were sharp—dark, knowing, fixed entirely on her.
Her stomach flipped.
"How…" She swallowed. "How do you know my name?"
He stepped closer, leaning in just enough for his voice to reach her without competing with the music. "I've known it longer than you've known mine."
That should have scared her.
Instead, a small, unsteady laugh escaped her lips. "That's… creepy."
A faint smile curved his mouth—not apologetic, not defensive. "Maybe. But it's true."
Without waiting for permission, he slid into the booth beside her, moving like the space had always been his. Elena stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed despite herself. The air around him felt heavier. Quieter.
"What's your name then?" she asked, words slightly slurred.
"Aiden."
The name settled somewhere deep in her chest, heavier than it had any right to be.
They talked. Or at least, time passed in a way that felt like talking. About nothing important. About everything at once. His voice carried a strange calm, steady and low, like it didn't belong in a place filled with chaos and flashing lights.
"There are echoes of you in the stars," he said at one point, his gaze never leaving her face.
She giggled, shaking her head. "You're insane."
"Maybe," he murmured. "But even fate pauses when you smile."
Warmth crept into her cheeks. She blamed the alcohol.
The room tilted slightly, her balance slipping. Without meaning to, Elena leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. She expected him to tense, to pull away.
He didn't.
He stayed perfectly still, solid and warm beside her.
Safe.
The realization startled her more than anything else.
Their lips brushed—brief, accidental, barely a kiss at all.
But it was real.
She pulled back with a soft laugh, dizzy. "I'm not going to remember this tomorrow."
"You will," Aiden said quietly.
She squinted at him, trying to focus. "If you disappear… I'll know you weren't real."
Her fingers fumbled for her phone, nearly dropping it. He took it from her hand gently, his touch cool against her skin. His thumbs moved across the screen quickly. A second later, her phone buzzed—ringing once before stopping.
He handed it back to her.
"Sleep," he whispered, voice low and intimate. "We'll talk again."
The lights blurred. The music stretched thin.
Then the world slipped into darkness.
Elena woke with a dry mouth and a pounding head.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. The club lights were gone, replaced by pale morning sunlight spilling through her dorm window. Her stomach dropped as fragments of memory flickered—music, shadows, a voice that didn't feel like a stranger's.
Aiden.
She groaned, pressing her palm to her forehead. "You drank too much," she muttered to herself.
Her phone buzzed.
She froze.
Slowly, she reached for it.
Unknown Number Calling.
Her heart began to race before her mind could catch up. After a moment's hesitation, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Elena."
The sound of her name sent a jolt through her.
She shot upright in bed, blanket pooling around her waist. "Aiden?"
There was a brief pause, then a soft sound—almost a chuckle. "So you do remember."
"Not… clearly," she admitted.
"That's all right," he replied calmly.
She didn't know why, but her grip tightened around the phone. Awareness hummed beneath her skin like static. Something about him felt etched into her, carved deeper than memory.
They spoke only briefly. Enough for her to know she hadn't imagined him. Enough to confirm he was real.
When the call ended, Elena stared at the screen for a long moment before pressing the phone to her chest.
That was how it began.
A name spoken in a crowded club.
A stranger who didn't feel like one.
A single night she couldn't forget—even though she couldn't fully remember it.
Later that day, she sat on the edge of her dorm bed, sketchbook open in her lap. Her pencil moved without conscious thought, tracing familiar lines—eyes, lips, shadows.
His face.
Her pulse quickened. She tore the page out and crumpled it.
"No," she whispered. "I can't do this."
It wasn't just attraction. It was the mystery. The way he'd appeared out of nowhere. The unsettling feeling that he'd known her long before she'd known him.
Was he even real?
She shoved the sketchbook aside and pulled on a hoodie, heading out for a walk. The city bustled around her, people moving with purpose, but her thoughts stayed tangled in one name.
Aiden.
She hated how safe she'd felt with him. How easily she'd leaned into his presence. That kind of trust didn't come naturally to her.
When she returned to her dorm, the room felt colder somehow. Emptier.
She lay back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. "You're not real," she whispered, though the words tasted like a lie.
She should have been afraid.
Instead, part of her hoped he'd call again.
A chill brushed over her skin, and her gaze drifted toward the window as the wind rattled softly against the glass.
For just a second, she thought she heard her name.
"Elena…"
She sat up sharply, heart pounding.
Silence.
Maybe it was her imagination. Maybe it was the echo of a night she wasn't ready to let go of.
Either way, one truth settled heavily in her chest—
She wasn't ready to forget him.
Not yet.