My Date to the Gala

The announcement hit the campus group chat like wildfire.

"Senior Gala – May 28. One last night to remember. Formal attire. Bring a date... or don't."

Lena Morgan read it twice, then rolled her eyes, dropping her phone face-down on the cafeteria table.

"You're not going, are you?" Ethan asked, his usual smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he sipped his coffee across from her. "You hate that kind of thing. Glitter, people pretending they're in love, slow dances..."

"I don't hate slow dances," she replied without looking at him, stabbing a piece of cantaloupe like it had personally offended her. "I just don't see the point in dressing up for a night that's basically a goodbye party with overpriced tickets and too much perfume."

Ethan leaned forward, voice teasing. "Come on, Lena. It's our last big event. After this, it's graduation gowns and empty apartments. We might never get a night like this again."

She met his gaze, and there it was-that flicker she always ignored. The part of her that wondered if he ever looked at her a little too long. But she was an expert at pretending. She had been for three years.

"You going?" she asked, forcing nonchalance.

"Maybe," he said, shrugging. "If I find someone cool enough."

Lena scoffed. "Right. The legendary Ethan Calloway needs help finding a date. The world must be ending."

He grinned. "What can I say? High standards."

She laughed, shaking her head. Her chest tightened-brief, invisible. It always did when he said things like that. When he smiled like that.

Across the quad, students bustled past, talking about internships, travel plans, last finals. Everything was moving too fast now. She and Ethan had been inseparable since sophomore year, meeting by chance at a student film screening. Now, they were on borrowed time, counting down the weeks to goodbye. And neither of them ever talked about what that really meant.

Lena cleared her throat. "If you go, don't expect me to help you pick a tie or fix your hair. You're on your own."

He raised an eyebrow. "Please. You'd never let me go to a formal event without saving me from disaster."

"True," she said, smiling. "But only because I refuse to be seen with a walking fashion tragedy."

He laughed, then quieted for a moment, watching her. "You know... if you change your mind, about the gala, I'd go with you."

Her breath caught, but she masked it with a casual shrug. "Yeah, right. As friends?"

"Of course," he said lightly, but something in his tone felt different. Softer. Like the words held a weight neither of them could name.

Lena looked away, eyes scanning the quad but not really seeing anything.

"Let's just get through finals first," she muttered, brushing it off. "One apocalypse at a time."

But even as they returned to their usual banter, the silence between their words held something new. Something they were both too scared to say.

They spent the rest of the afternoon at their usual corner in the library - not because they had real studying to do, but because it was comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

Ethan sprawled out on the worn velvet couch under the tall window, flipping lazily through his film theory notes. Lena sat cross-legged beside him, typing away on her laptop but only half-focused. Every few seconds, she'd glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

He caught her once.

"What?" he asked, grinning like he'd caught her mid-crime.

"Nothing," she said quickly, cheeks flushing as she stared down at her screen. "Just wondering how you've made it four years without learning how to actually read your notes."

"I skim," he replied proudly. "It's a form of survival."

She shook her head, amused. "You're a mess."

"You love it."

That was the problem.

She didn't respond. He didn't press. That was always their rhythm - right up to the edge, then step back before it got too real.

Instead, he closed his notebook and leaned his head against the couch cushion, eyes shut. "Do you ever think about how weird this is all gonna feel when it's over?"

Lena stopped typing.

"All of it?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he said. "Like... we'll be in different cities. You'll be off writing your best-selling novel. I'll be chasing indie film dreams or stuck editing wedding videos. And this-" he gestured vaguely around them "-will just be... gone."

She looked around too. The dusty sunlight filtering in through the window. The shelves they used to hide behind during finals. The spot where he once fell asleep and drooled on her shoulder.

"Don't make me sentimental," she whispered. "I won't survive it."

He opened one eye, watching her. "You're stronger than you think."

She smiled sadly. "You always say that."

"Because it's true."

Something swelled in her chest then - gratitude, fear, longing - all twisted into one overwhelming feeling she couldn't name. She swallowed it back.

Before either of them could say something they'd regret, her phone buzzed. A message lit up the screen.

Cameron Rios:

Hey Lena. Just wondering if anyone's asked you to the gala yet?

Her heart skipped. She stared at the message like it might explode.

Ethan leaned over to peek. "Oh. Rios. Nice guy."

Lena locked the screen immediately, but not fast enough.

"You gonna say yes?" he asked, tone unreadable.

"I don't know," she said. "Does it matter?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

And just like that, the air between them changed again. Heavy with something unnamed.

She didn't respond to Cameron.

Not yet.

Lena tucked her phone into her bag, suddenly too aware of how quiet Ethan had gone beside her. The light from the window had softened, turning everything gold - their last college spring was bleeding into summer, and she could feel it slipping through her fingers.

"I didn't know you and Cameron talked," Ethan said after a moment, his voice casual but distant.

"We don't, really. We had one class last semester. I guess he's just... being polite."

"Or he wants to be more than polite," Ethan muttered.

She looked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He ran a hand through his hair, messy from leaning on the couch. "You should go if you want. He's not a bad choice."

She hated the way her chest pinched at that. "Is that what you think this is? A choice?"

"I think it's a dance, Lena. Not a marriage proposal."

"Right," she said softly, "just a dance."

He nodded, eyes back on his notes - or pretending to be. Lena stared at him for a long second, watching the way he avoided her gaze. Her heart ached in the way it always did when they tiptoed near the truth and refused to step over the line.

With a sigh, she stood, grabbing her things. "I should go. I've got that tutoring shift in ten."

Ethan sat up. "Want me to walk you?"

"No. I'm good."

He hesitated. "Okay. See you tonight?"

She smiled weakly. "Yeah. See you."

As she walked away, her phone buzzed again in her bag.

Cameron, following up.

But it wasn't his message she was thinking about.

It was Ethan's face, right before she turned away.

And the way he hadn't asked her not to go with someone else.