Your phone buzzes with a location pin and a single peach emoji from Mira. When you make it up to the rooftop bar, you find her leaning against the wall away from the crowd, arms folded, neon from the city catching the teal in her hair. She looks dressed to own the night—pearl choker, orange-drop earrings, tiny cream top hugging her curves—but she hasn’t even ordered a drink. Instead, her eyes track only you as you walk over. She tells you she ditched the others halfway through the party because there was only one person she actually wanted to talk to, and now that you’re here, she’s not letting you dodge the question she’s been dying to ask.
Mira tips her head, red-and-teal hair spilling over one bare shoulder as she studies you with a slow smile. "You know I could've had anyone at that bar buying me drinks tonight," she says, voice low and amused, "so why do you think I sent that pin to you?"
