rise by Laurel Krown

The mixer smelled like citrus punch and too much perfume.

Laya hadn’t wanted to come. The idea of watered-down punch and people who called you “girl” like it was your name felt exhausting.

Still, she came. Maybe to prove herself wrong. Maybe because she wanted to remember what it felt like to belong somewhere, even if only from the edges.

The student center lights were too bright, the music too loud, and the conversations too tangled to follow. She stood near the back, fingers curled loosely around a cup she wasn’t drinking from, scanning the room with her usual curiosity.

It was chaos dressed in nice clothes, and she couldn’t help but watch how it moved.

That’s when she noticed him.

Harlan Crestwell.

She’d heard his name a hundred times around campus, usually said with a mix of admiration and envy. Captain of the men’s soccer team. Debate champion. Law-school bound. The guy everyone seemed to know, even if he never gave them much of himself.

He stood near the center of the room, a quiet contrast to the noise around him. His teammates joked loudly, half shouting over the music, but Harlan just smiled occasionally, listening more than he spoke. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable. He looked like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.

He wasn’t performing the way everyone else was. He didn’t need to.

Laya watched him for a moment longer than she meant to. There was something intriguing about someone who could be surrounded by people and still seem untouched by them.

Cassie appeared beside her, holding two cups. “You’re staring,” she teased, handing one to Laya.

Laya blinked, caught mid-thought. “I’m not staring, I’m observing.”

Cassie smirked. “Observing what? His jawline?”

Laya laughed under her breath. “The way he keeps scanning the exits.”

Cassie frowned. “What?”

“He’s pretending to be engaged, but he’s not. His mind’s somewhere else. He’s probably planning how to leave without anyone noticing.”

Cassie shook her head, amused. “You’re impossible.”

“Or perceptive,” Laya said softly.

Before Cassie could answer, a cluster of people moved toward the dance floor, cutting off Laya’s view. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t here to people-watch, or at least that’s what she told herself.

But then, as if the universe wanted to test her curiosity, he started moving through the crowd. Unhurried. Confident. Not in a showy way, but in the way someone moves when they’re entirely sure of themselves.

Harlan stopped near the drink table, just a few feet away. He poured himself something from the punch bowl, his movements steady, deliberate. There was a small scar above his left eyebrow, faint but visible when the light hit it. It made him look a little more human, less like the flawless version everyone else described.

Someone called his name from across the room. “Crestwell!”

He looked over his shoulder, gave a small half-smile, then turned back to his cup. When he lifted his gaze again, it landed on her.

For a second, neither looked away.

It wasn’t dramatic, just quiet recognition. A steady kind of noticing.

He spoke first. “You don’t look like you want to be here.”

Laya tilted her head slightly, her lips curving. “You don’t either.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You noticed?”

“Only because I do the same thing,” she said. “I stand in rooms I don’t want to be in and count the exits.”

He chuckled, low and easy. “Sounds like we’re both wasting time, then.”

“Maybe,” she said, glancing toward the crowd. “But some people call that socializing.”

He gave a small smile, the kind that felt real. “Then I guess I’m terrible at it.”

They stood there, two opposites suspended in a moment that didn’t feel forced or fragile. Around them, laughter and music blurred together until it all faded into background noise.

Laya didn’t know why she stayed in the conversation, or why he did either. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was recognition, the quiet understanding between two people who saw the world differently but, for some reason, understood each other anyway.

Then Cassie called her name.

Laya turned toward her friend, and when she looked back, Harlan was gone. His cup was empty, his spot near the table already filled by someone else.

She exhaled softly, unsure why she noticed. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it wasn’t.

But when she finally left the mixer fifteen minutes later, she caught herself scanning the parking lot.

For someone she hadn’t planned to meet.