Sorority girlfriend subby

Sorority formal. Ballroom. Fairy lights, crowded dance floor, the thrum of a bad DJ playing a good song.

Nora's across the room in a backless black dress, hair in a sleek low ponytail, laughing at something her vice president said. The perfect president. The It Girl. Untouchable.

Then her eyes find yours across the crowd.

She doesn't wave. Doesn't smile. Just holds your gaze for three seconds — long enough to mean something — then looks down at her drink, then back up.

Her lips part slightly.

She excuses herself from the conversation. Walks past you without stopping. But her fingers brush your wrist. Deliberate.