The party thrummed with life—laughter rang out, glasses clinked, and a golden warmth lingered in the air like magic. A dazzling cake stood at the center, candles flickering atop it, framed by clusters of vibrant balloons. And beside it—the birthday girl.
Aurora.
She was radiant. Elegance wrapped around her like moonlight on silk. Confidence shimmered in her smile, effortless and disarming. Everyone gravitated toward her, but she stayed grounded graceful, warm, untouchable.
Music floated through the hall, soft and sultry. Guests danced, toasted, and passed around cake, joy spilling into the evening like champagne from a popped bottle.
Then, a sleek black car tore past the venue, a streak of shadow against the golden light. Conversations paused. Heads turned. Aurora's eyes followed.
The car slowed near the entrance. A tall figure stepped out, leaned against the hood. Wavy crew cut. Broad shoulders. A presence like a brewing storm. Unapologetically handsome.
Something about him pulled her in.
Aurora leans closer to Nova, eyes fixed on the stranger. "Hey, do you know who that guy is?"
Nova squints, chewing on a cake pop like it's a mystery clue. "I don't know, but if mystery had a body, it just walked in wearing that jawline."
Aurora raises a brow.
Nova nudges her with a grin. "Don't look at me like that. That charm and that physique? They've already RSVP'd to your attention, Aurora."
She laughs under her breath. Nova smirks and adds, "Girl, if he stares any harder, the wine glasses might start clinking themselves."
With measured confidence, Aurora strolled over and slipped into the seat near him. She ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon—the same wine he held, a subtle invitation written in red.
He glanced at her, unreadable. A flicker of a smile played on his lips, shadowed with something bittersweet.
"I'm Aurora," she said, casual but curious. "And you are…?"
"Zidane," he replied smoothly. "I'm the birthday girl's ex. Leaving town soon. Higher studies."
Aurora raised a brow, lips curving. "Ex, huh?" she smirked. "Funny. I'm the birthday girl."
He freezes, just for a breath. Then slowly, he chuckles—low, effortless, like thunder before a summer rain.
"Well," Zidane says, voice dipping with playful weight, "then I guess I've got my exes mixed up."
Aurora tilts her head. "Do you make a habit of showing up at the wrong birthdays and seducing the actual guest of honor?"
He leans in slightly, wine swirling in his glass. "Only when the guest of honor looks like trouble wrapped in velvet."
She blinks. Once. Twice. Is that a line? A warning? Or just well-aged mischief?
Before she can press him further, he stands and walks away—no goodbye. No glance back.
Her heart thudded.
That night, memories spun like stars behind her eyes. There was something about him. Unfinished. Wild. Dangerous.
The next morning.
Aurora woke late. Panic struck. She rushed through her routine, hair a mess, bag half-zipped. Her first day at Rivermont University—already spiraling.
But fate wasn't done with her yet.
As she neared the bus stop, the same sleek car screeched to a halt.
The window rolled down. Zidane.
He stepped out, calm as morning mist. "Hop in," he said.
Aurora hesitated. "Aren't you leaving?"
Zidane smirked. "Can't let my first love wait by a bus stop while I drive past in a new car."
Before she could protest, he gently helped her in and buckled her seatbelt.
There was a strange calm in his presence. Like the chaos no longer mattered.
"Where are we going?" she asked, dazed.
"I already told you. You're mine," he said quietly. "From the second I saw you last night."
She flushed, turning to the window to cool her face.
When they reached the university, he opened her door with an old-school charm. "Your first day, right? Guess what?" He grinned. "I'm studying here too."
Aurora stared. Thoughts whirled. But all she said was a dry, "Thanks."
Inside the classroom, she slid into a seat beside a friendly guy.
"I'm Harvey," he said with a smile.
"Aurora."
The door creaked open again. Zidane.
He walked in like he owned the moment. The professor introduced him as a top basketball player. Girls whispered. But Zidane didn't flinch. He didn't sit beside her—he sat behind.
The lecture began, themed around cars and memories.
A boy shared a tragic story. A girl, a crash, laughter turning to silence.
Another student spoke of sunlight and freedom.
Then Zidane stood.
"I want to share something about a drive with my girlfriend," he began. Calm voice, laced with something raw.
He spoke of her scent—a mix of wild musk and something untamed. He described her like poetry lost in the wind. Bold. Delicate. Unforgettable.
As he spoke, his eyes brushed Aurora.
She stilled.
Why do I feel like he's speaking about someone he hasn't met yet… or maybe just met last night?