The party officially begins, and the LM Villa glows like something out of a dream.
Ami and her friends settle onto one of the luxurious sofas near the side of the ballroom, sitting like royalty-heads held high, laughter soft but confident, their presence glowing brighter than the chandeliers above. The silky cushions, the golden light dancing off their clothes, the way they carry themselves-it's impossible not to notice them.
In the center, under a dramatic spotlight, Alia sits with Nyra and the rest of her group. Their seating is clearly arranged to be the highlight of the room. They're dressed extravagantly, soaking up attention. Or ar least , trying to.
As the slow music begins to play, Dylan steps forward. With a soft smile, he turns to Soha and offers his hand.
Dylan: "May I have this dance?"
Soha's cheeks flush a soft pink, but she nods, slipping her hand into his. He leads her onto the dance floor.
The two begin to dance with a rhythm that feels too natural to be rehearsed. Soha's lavender hair sways with each graceful turn, and Dylan moves with a kind of quiet protectiveness, his amber eyes never leaving hers. Their movements are full of emotion-tender, heartfelt, and completely captivating.
Whispers ripple across the ballroom.
"They look perfect together…"
"Are they a couple?"
"They should be."
All eyes shift to the dance floor. Phones are discreetly raised. Photos are taken. Some students clap softly, enchanted by their chemistry.
Meanwhile, Alia is also dancing-locked in a slow sway with one of her guy friends, her dress swishing dramatically with every movement. She throws a glance over her shoulder, expecting admiration, cameras, comments.
But there's silence.
No one's watching.
No one's reacting.
Their eyes are glued to Dylan and Soha.
Alia's smile tightens. Her gaze sharpens. She turns ever so slightly in her partner's arms, trying to catch someone--anyone---looking at her. But nothing. She feels it like a slap-the absence of attention, the cold air of being ignored at her own party.
Then, without warning, Sneha slips away from the group.
She moves toward the small singing section set up beside the stage, where a mic rests on a sleek silver stand. The area was supposed to be for performers later in the evening-but Sneha clearly has her own ideas.
With the smooth confidence of someone used to shaking things up, she grabs the mic and taps it lightly.
A soft static buzz draws everyone's attention.
Sneha (smiling sweetly):
"Hi, everyone. I'd like to dedicate a little something... to our lovely birthday girl, Alia. A song about friendship."
The crowd claps lightly, expecting a warm and cheesy performance.
As gentle background music begins to play, Sneha starts to sing-soft, melodic, and unexpectedly soulful. But the lyrics?
They talk about trust. The kind that doesn't ask for attention or social media posts. The kind built on late-night secrets, silent support, and holding someone's hand even when they're falling apart.
About being seen-not just when it's convenient-but especially when it's not.
About choosing someone, again and again, without needing an audience for it. About loyalty without conditions and laughter without judgment. The kind of friendship that survives silence, distance, and heartbreak.
Each line, though poetic, holds a weight Alia can feel in her bones.
And in the middle of it all, Sneha's eyes wander-landing briefly on Saad.
They freeze.
He looks up at the same time. Their gazes lock for just a heartbeat too long, and suddenly both of them glance away, their expressions faltering, a flush creeping into their faces.
The memory of that rooftop 'accident' still lingers in the air between them-unspoken but undeniably loud.
But the song goes on.
Alia, still standing in her golden spotlight, feels her shine dimming by the second.
Her fake smile stays, but it's slipping. Her fingers twitch at her side, and her eyes flick to Ami-who sits coolly on the velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other, watching like she's at a private show.
Because she is.
Alia knows. Everyone in this room knows.
This song isn't about her.
It's about Ami.
Ami's loyalty. Ami's quiet strength. Ami's ability to draw people in without even trying.
And the worst part?
Everyone's listening.
Everyone's smiling.
She's had enough.
But just as the irritation starts bubbling over, Nyra leans in with a smug grin.
Nyra (in a sing-song voice):
"Don't worry, Alia~ I've prepared a song just for you."
Alia's eyes flick to her, expression softening for a split second. For once, someone actually remembered.
Alia's POV:
Finally. At least someone is doing something for me on my birthday. Not for Ami. Not for some fake friendship speech. For me.
She adjusts her dress and stands taller, waiting for her moment. Her golden heels click against the marble as she walks toward the center again, preparing to receive attention like a queen reentering her court.
But behind the sound booth, Saad smirks devilishly.
With sneaky precision, he taps his phone, syncing to the Bluetooth speaker that controls the background tracks. The official birthday playlist? Silently overridden.
A bizarre beat drops.
A strange, upbeat instrumental kicks in-something that sounds like it belongs in a circus, not a ballroom.
And then the lyrics begin:
"🎶 Oh my friend, I'm making a joke
But whenever I see you, I feel like choke
You gotta control the mind of yours
Or else I might die out of chaos! 🎶"
The entire room freezes.
Laughter bursts from one side of the hall and spreads like wildfire. Guests cover their mouths in shock. Some literally fall over themselves trying to stifle their snorts. A guy in the back yells out, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS??"
Phones rise. Videos are recording.
Nyra's smile falters mid-strut.
Alia stands frozen, like her soul just disconnected from her body. Her cheeks flush crimson red, her jaw trembling.
Alia's POV:
What. The actual. Hell.
She stares at the speaker as if she could set it on fire with her glare alone.
Meanwhile, Saad is leaning casually against a pillar, sipping juice like it's fine wine.
Sneha's trying not to wheeze from laughter.
And Ami?
She doesn't even move.
She just sits like a silent empress, elegantly perched on the velvet couch, silver earrings glinting like starlight. A single brow arched, a small smirk tugging at her lips as if this entire show was written for her amusement.
Guests whisper.
Laughter echoes.
And click.
Another photo.
Another video.
Another moment where Alia is not the center---but the joke.
The music cuts off, finally.
But the damage is done.
And as Ami gracefully lifts her glass to sip, without even glancing at Alia…
Later , the party shifts into a more refined rhythm. The music softens, guests mingle, and a quiet family gathering forms near the grand staircase of LM Villa. The older guests-dressed in elegant silks and adorned in jewels,are exchanging pleasantries, sipping champagne or juice, and reminiscing.
Ami stands quietly among them, her posture graceful, her expression soft yet poised.
An elegantly dressed older woman , steps forward. She's one of the relatives from Ami's late mother's side-known for her refined demeanor and sharp eyes.
The woman pauses in front of Ami, tilting her head slightly, studying her.
Then, with a kind smile, she speaks:
"You look just like your mother, dear. Beautiful. Graceful. A calm soul, just like Selene was. Maxim, you did a good thing raising this child."
Her voice is clear, warm, and loud enough for the nearby guests to hear-including Maxim, Aron… and Alia.
Gasps and soft nods ripple through the group.
Maxim clears his throat, looking both proud and awkward.
But behind them-
Alia stiffens.
Alia's POV:
Why the fuck is she getting this much attention?
"She just looks hideous," she mutters under her breath, barely audible, but enough for Nyra beside her to awkwardly pretend she didn't hear it.
But it doesn't stop there.
A group of girls, all dressed in dreamy short dresses, approach Ami a moment later, excitement lighting up their faces.
Girl #1: "Oh my god, Ami, your earrings are literally magical! Where did you get them?"
Girl #2: "You look like you just stepped out of a royal ball. No joke."
Girl #3: "Can we get a picture with you? You look so elegant tonight."
Flash.
Flash.
Cameras click. Phones snap shots.
Ami, humble as ever, smiles softly and nods. "Thank you. You all look gorgeous too."
The girls squeal quietly in response, posing with her as if she's the star of the night.
And Alia?
She watches it all from the side.
Her jaw aches from fake-smiling too long.
Alia's POV:
Why is everything always about her tonight?
This was my birthday.
Mine.
But no matter how bright her chandelier shines, how golden her dress glows, or how loud her music plays…
Ami's silence, her presence, her quiet grace-drowns her out without even trying.
And Alia hates it.
She hates it more than anything.