The party was Aria's idea.
She'd been talking about it for weeks, some off-campus house party thrown by seniors, the kind of event that promised cheap beer and crowded rooms and music loud enough to feel in your chest.
I had no interest in going. Parties were exhausting, full of social calculations and forced interactions that required too much energy to maintain.
But Aria wanted me there.
"Come on," she'd said, sprawled across my dorm bed while I pretended to study. "You can't spend every Friday night in this room. Live a little."
"I am living."
"You're existing. There's a difference." She rolled onto her stomach, chin propped on her hands. "Please? I'll make it worth your while. I'll buy you boba after. The expensive one."
I'd looked at her then, at the way her eyes went soft when she asked me for things, like my answer actually mattered to her. Like I mattered.
"Fine."
Her whole face lit up. "Really?"
"One hour. That's it."
