What is your favourite genre to read/write?

I like writing contemporary YA and NA, and currently I'm super into reading urban fantasy. I'm tunnelling through all of Ilona Andrews' works - they are a powerhouse.

Enjoy <3

said about balls.

That moment when I thought dresses and venues were not enough to excite girls. I was wrong.

For me, however, it wasn't the dress or the venue. It was the man. Maybe that made me irrational or weak. Fawning. Falling. But when Quen paused right underneath a hanging star-shaped lamp—thousands of pinpoints of light cast over his face—I thought, if I had to abandon my balance and reshuffle my emotional priorities to have him in my life, so be it.

Quen placed his hand on my waist and drew our intertwined hands up to chest height. We swayed along to the music, our weight oscillating between our feet. At some point during my childhood ballet career, I'd learnt the basics of ballroom. This was so wrong, and yet my brain was completely satisfied at his technique.

So be it.

It wasn't even that I knew Quen would turn out to be worth it.

In fact, I was pretty sure he wouldn't. He had never wanted me to see his badminton games or marching band rehearsals. He cancelled on dates and teased me like I was any one of his guy friends. We only talked about studying. I had less and less confidence to confess by the day. He would never know. We would drift apart after graduation and likely never meet again.

That was okay. Whether something was worth it to me didn't depend on its payoff. My relationships weren't transactional. I wouldn't regard Quen positively so long as he didn't break my heart—he could do all that, he could break my heart, whilst completely unaware, and I would still be better for having known how this felt.

Because I'd never felt this way before.

We'd never hugged or kissed or said anything remotely flirtatious to each other and already he'd carved a larger hole in my heart than any of my previous boyfriends. It was a good type of pain. I didn't know how else to describe it. Just that it kept me up at night and warmed me through the days.

Quen's fingers brushed over the sliver of bare skin on my back as we danced. Each time, it sent tingles shooting down my spine; I almost wished he would hold me more tightly just so the maddeningly gentle caresses stopped. The absence of hard contact drove me crazy.

Except I knew he wouldn't do something like that. Quen was trying to dance the traditional way and staying above the waistline and refraining from touching me securely because he was a gentleman.

"You look—" Quen began. Then he sighed and chuckled derisively. "—never mind. You already know. It'll just give you a big head."

I smiled at his characteristically roundabout way of complimenting me, noting the tightening of his fingers around mine. "You, too. But you feel free to get a big head."

It was almost like Quen didn't believe me, the way he dipped his head and laughed quietly. "Thanks. I will."

He shook his head when he chuckled like that. The locks of inky black hair that fell over his head didn't shake like they usually did when he laughed. I realised that he'd used gel or wax to stiffen them tonight. As much as I thought Quen looked like the most handsome man in the room with his fancy suit, somehow I found myself wishing for his usual t-shirt, jeans and unstyled hair.

We didn't speak as we danced.

For some reason, the thought of filling the silence with my usual quick remark or witticism didn't ever occur to me. It felt like we were already talking, across the space between us, somehow. I didn't feel any need to appear clever or suave or sociable around Quen. We had the tendency to have digressive conversations whenever we studied together, but somehow dancing made us shut up completely.

I looked up at Quen as we swayed along to the music. His head was bowed low so that we could meet eyes, which cast most of his face into shadow from the lights above. Usually his eyes were a warm brown, or a sunny hazel when in bright light. But now they appeared solid and dark. I couldn't glean anything from it, except that his eyes were beautiful.

And that they flickered—once, so imperceptibly that it discouraged me—to my lips.

I wasn't going to make a move when I didn't even trust my own vision. The last time I took a leap, I got majorly burned. My friends and I agreed that my effort needed to be reciprocated.

But I did raise my chin by a few degrees, letting Quen see my features more directly. Being this near to Quen, in his arms, was a heady feeling. My breath came shakier just thinking about how close our faces were.

Maybe I was imagining him leaning down, parting his lips, when I closed my eyes—

"Oh, it's Krista!" a familiar voice erupted from beside me. "And Quentin!"

I jerked back like I'd been electrocuted. Quen's arms fell away from me, resting casually in his pockets. Where he had been holding me now felt cold with the sudden loss of his nearness. Clearing my head of my naughty, non-platonic thoughts, we both shifted to face Joelle and her friend.

"Guys, these are the two smartest people I know," Jo introduced us exuberantly. "They are so clever and so kind as well."

Hearing her flattering description warmed my heart, and I gave Jo a fond hug. There was a familiar smell on her. "Hey, Jo," I asked, "Have you been drinking?"

"Yup!" she giggled. "If I paid a hundred bucks for the ticket, you bet I'm drinking my money's worth."

"Very logical," Quen approved.

I cast a sideways glance at him, shaking my head gently. If he encouraged her, she would probably drink more. I didn't know Jo's tolerance, but the last thing I wanted was another Riley situation. I felt responsible and protective over the people in my life, sometimes to a fault.

"So," Jo drawled, unaware of our exchange. "My friends wanted to take a photo with you. Because you're famous. And they're huge fans."

"Jo! I told you to ask tactfully," one of them scolded her.

"That was tactful!"

"I don't mind," I reassured Jo and her friend. I scanned the room and noticed by the ladies' bathroom a cluster of young women who were looking at us with hope. "Is that the rest of them over there?"

"Yeah," Jo's friend sighed.

I fixed Quen with a cheery smile that belied none of the disappointment I felt at having our dance cut short. But I couldn't turn away my fans. I raised my hand for a half-hearted wave, "See you around, maybe."

"Maybe," he smiled good-naturedly. "Bye, Krista."

Then Jo took my left hand, her friend took my right and they led me through the crowd towards their giggling girlfriends.

"To be honest, I was a little starstruck when I first saw you in my tutorial class at the start of the semester," Jo chattered. "But that's nothing compared to one of my friends. In the lilac dress. She loves your content. If you had merch, she would only wear outfits of your stuff."

"Wow," my eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's really something."

When I reached Jo's friends, I went about greeting every girl with a hug, and offering to take a few, quick group photos. Emphasis on the few, the quick and the group parts—because I was determined not to be roped into another ten minute photoshoot with rotating models. With luck, I could humbly meet some of my fans and find my way back to Quen.

"I love your YouTube tutorials," the wearer of the lilac dress said shyly. Her cheeks blazed with an intense flush, but I didn't know if she was nervous or intoxicated.

There was a soft spot in my heart for drunk girls. They were candid, hilarious and downright fearless at times. But I also worried endlessly about them, just based on my experiences at Topaz.

I placed a light hand on her shoulder, smiling in what I hoped was a comforting manner. "I'm not exceptional at makeup, but thank you so much. Hearing things like this makes my day."

"I like them because of the vibe," she all but gushed. "Your voice is so calming and you always make your viewer feel really good about themselves. I'm so glad I got to meet you this year."

"Thanks, love. That means a lot."

Another one of Jo's friends took her phone and started taking pictures of us. Seeing a camera in my face, my lips reflexively curved into a seductive smile. I held still while the girl hammered her thumb on the screen—spamming her gallery with pictures—and while another girl jumped out to switch places with her.

When they were satisfied with the angles and the lighting, Jo's shyest friend tapped me on the shoulder again. "Can I ask you one question?"

I nodded at her, curious about what she would want to know. My skincare routine? My favourite fashion brands? Saucy details of my love life?

"What's your ideal Saturday like?"

"Oh," I breathed. That was an unexpected but welcome inquiry. "I'd see my friends and call my Mom. I'd code a little bit. I'd watch lots of TV, movies and anime. Ghibli and Star Wars are my favourites. I'd eat Mexican takeaways in bed and fall asleep without realising."

It was like I'd given her the secret to eternal youth, the way she absolutely beamed when I answered. She told me, "That's so unique! Thank you."

Not really, but I still smiled back. "You're welcome, love."

I said a collective goodbye to the group of women. Jo placed a soft hand on my upper arm just as I was looking to disappear into the crowd.

"I appreciate you doing that for me," she said, her eyebrows pinched guiltily. "I'm sorry if I interrupted earlier."

"It's okay. You didn't," I said simply. "I'll see you after the break, Jo."

"Bye!" she squealed emotionally, pulling me into a tight hug.

"The life of a star," Quen quipped.

I whirled around on my heels so suddenly that my feet nearly tangled together. After I left Jo and her friends, I found my floormates and danced more with them. Then Viv and I had left to greet some of our mutual Pre-Med acquaintances. Finally, I excused myself to get some more water—when really I was using the opportunity to scan the room for Quen.

But he'd found me first.

"Don't start," I warned jocularly. That was one of the nicest conversations I'd had with my fans. I didn't need him chiming in with a criticism of parasocial relationships right now.

I raised my water to my lips, arching an eyebrow over the rim of the glass. "How long have you been watching me?"

"I decline to answer," Quen said cheekily. Then his smile flattened out, replaced by an almost concerned expression. "You know what word comes to mind when I think of you?"

Ah. Here it comes.

His quick change of demeanour unnerved me, but I schooled my features into a lighthearted smirk. "Aw, you think of me?"

"I try not to," Quen retorted. Despite my best efforts to buoy the mood, whatever was on his mind dragged it down again. It was so visible on his face, from the furrow between his eyebrows to the stern set of his jaw. "Mirror."

I lowered my glass. "Why do you say that?"

Quen took a few moments to gather his thoughts. When he spoke, he was tentative, almost shy. "You mentioned it once. You give people what they expect of you. can switch on whenever you need to. It's instantaneous, like another person just took the wheel. I've seen you do it a couple times now. I only wonder if it's instinct or a conscious effort."

"Sometimes it's instinct. Most times, it's conscious."

Quen chuckled, but the laughter didn't reach his eyes. In fact, he looked downright bitter. "Right."

He thought I was fake. I probably fit every objection he'd ever had about influencers, no matter how nice he was to me outwardly. Panic flashed across my mind, crawling up my throat like poison ivy, even though it shouldn't have mattered what he thought.

"Quen—"

"I probably shouldn't have asked."

"Yeah. You shouldn't have," I snapped.

He flinched.

"Sorry," we said at the same time. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

I cut in before he could continue, "I'm sorry, Quen. I know you weren't judging me." I shook my head. "You were just observing. Being honest. I appreciate that about you."

I hadn't meant to make him feel like he was invading. Maybe the question was rather forward, but his honesty was what I had always appreciated about him. Quen told his thoughts to my face. He'd never before been afraid to question influencers and their platforms, lambast my love for Ben Solo or admit to his insecurities.

The last thing I wanted was him holding back. Even if that meant digging up my deepest personal flaws and holding them to the light of the starlit ballroom.

"I'm sorry, too," he began. "I ju—"

A ringtone cut through my words. It took a couple of seconds before Quen realised it was his phone that was being called, and tore his eyes away. He took one look at the screen and swore, not bothering to pick up.

"Sorry, that's Callum," he explained. "My friends are leaving now. We're going to an afterparty." His words were certain, but his expression was conflicted. Almost like he didn't want to go.

"I hope you guys have fun," I said genuinely.

"Goodnight, Quen."

"Goodnight, Krista." Then he nodded and gave me a faltering smile, before embarking towards his friends.

I shook my head disbelievingly, heading in the opposite direction towards my own company. I should have known.

I had never had a chance with him to begin with.