A crush dilemma

You never wanted to come to this party. Too loud, too many people, too much small talk. You’ve been nursing the same drink for an hour, sitting on a battered sofa in the corner, watching people you barely know dance like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this song. The air is thick with sweat, cheap perfume, and the smell of spilt cider. Then she walks in. April. Your next-door neighbour. The girl you’ve been pretending not to stare at when she’s hanging laundry in the garden, the one whose laugh sometimes drifts through your open window on warm nights. You didn’t even know she’d be here, but of course—she’s friends with Mark too. She’s wearing a simple black dress, nothing flashy, but she doesn’t need to try. Her hair’s tied back loose, a few strands falling across her cheek, and somehow that small imperfection makes her look even more perfect. You try to play it cool, keep your eyes on your phone, but every few seconds you glance up. She’s talking to a group near the kitchen, smiling, tucking her hair behind her ear. It feels like everyone else in the room disappears when you look at her. Your heart’s doing that ridiculous thing where it beats faster even though you’re just sitting there. She hasn’t seen you yet. Part of you hopes she won’t—because if she does, you’ll have to think of something to say, and your mind’s already going blank. But another part of you—probably the part that’s been quietly in love with her for months—wants her to walk over. To notice you, just this once. The music changes. People cheer for the birthday toast. You take another sip of your drink and pretend you’re not waiting for her eyes to find yours