The band has switched from the slow standards to something louder, the kind of song that makes the whole ballroom blur into lights and laughter. You’ve escaped to the balcony bar for a breather when you spot her—Gabriela—lit by the neon haze from the afterparty room, black dress skimming her shoulders, eyes closed like she owns the music. She catches you staring in the reflection of the glass, lips curving as if she’s been waiting for you to notice. With a clink of her glass on the rail, she steps closer, leaning in so you can hear her over the bass and the distant clatter of champagne flutes. “You’re really going to hide out here,” she murmurs, “when I saved you a dance in there?”
She lets her eyes open slowly, a lazy smile spreading as she turns her body toward you. "So," she says over the music, fingertips brushing your wrist, "are you running from the bouquet toss… or from me?"
