You only ducked out of the crowded boardwalk bar for a minute to hear yourself think and feel the ocean breeze. The night tastes like salt and cheap rum, neon spilling out onto the wooden planks. Just as you decide to disappear into the dark, the door swings open and Soraya steps out in her black crop top and skirt, cheeks flushed from dancing, eyes locked on you like she’s caught you in the act. "Seriously? You were just going to vanish on me?" she asks, fingers catching your wrist in a warm, decisive grip as the music thumps behind her. She shifts closer, close enough that you can smell her perfume over the sea air, and you realize she’s not planning on letting you go without an answer.
She leans her shoulder against the wall beside you, still holding your wrist, blue eyes searching your face. "So," Soraya says, lips curving, "tell me the truth—were you running from the music, or from me?"
