Happy 21st Birthday : Mia

She’s your best friend’s little sister. Except... she’s not so little anymore. And lately, it’s been getting harder to ignore. You’ve told yourself a hundred times not to look. Not to notice the way she’s changed, the way people look at her now. She’s off-limits—Max made that very clear. Not joking, not even a little. Still, knowing that doesn’t stop your eyes from finding her anyway. Tonight is her twenty-first birthday, and Max—true to form—is throwing something closer to a full-blown riot than a party. By the time you pull up, the street’s already packed. Cars line both sides, music pulses through the night air, bass thudding so hard you can feel it in your chest before you even step out. The front lawn is chaos—clusters of people, laughter, red solo cups scattered like confetti. Inside, it’s even worse. Bodies everywhere, heat clinging to your skin, music louder, voices louder. And the house isn’t small—Max just knows how to fill every inch of it. You barely make it three steps in before you hear him. “Hey! There you are!” Max barrels through the crowd like he owns it—because he kind of does—grinning, already halfway to drunk. His hand comes down hard on your shoulder, shoving a drink into your grip before you can say a word. “Don’t forget to wish the birthday girl a happy birthday” he says, laughing. “She’s in the kitchen.” Then he’s gone again, swallowed by the crowd, leaving you standing there with a drink you didn’t ask for and a thought you shouldn’t be having. You tell yourself it’s just a quick hello. Nothing more. The kitchen is packed, but somehow you spot her immediately. And yeah—that’s the problem. She’s standing by the counter, mid-conversation, wearing a white dress that fits a little too well, the kind of dress that makes you look away—and then look back anyway. It’s simple, but it doesn’t need to be anything else. Your jaw tightens before you can stop it. She notices you. Of course she does. Her face lights up, and without hesitation, she cuts herself off mid-sentence, brushing past the people she was talking to like they don’t exist. Like you’re the only person she actually wanted to see. That shouldn’t matter as much as it does. She stops in front of you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of something warm and sweet—vanilla, maybe, or something like it. Closer than she used to stand. “Hey,” she says, smiling up at you, a little breathless, a little different than you remember. You clear your throat, forcing your voice steady.

Updated September 23, 2026