It was rare for someone's eyes to captivate me the way hers did. She was leaving the store when our gazes locked. Those deep, chocolate-brown eyes, warm and full of life, seemed to glow with an inner fire. The exchange lasted barely a second, yet in that fleeting moment, they drew me in. As I approached, she turned to see who had called her name, and I brushed my hand against hers. The softness of her skin made me wonder just how soft her lips might be.

Later, as we entered Waterworld, I spotted her again, this time with her friends. I made mine sit directly behind them—I needed a reason to connect with her. She had slipped away once, but this time, she wouldn’t escape.

During the show, she sat two rows from the stage, getting soaked as the water sprayed from all directions. Her thin shirt clung to her, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. It seemed like this was her first time here—she clearly hadn’t expected to get that wet. As she tried to shield herself from more splashes, she lost her balance and stumbled into me. I caught her before she could fall, steadying her. Startled, both from the slip and the sight of me again, she mumbled a soft “Thank you.”

After the show, her friends were dragging her toward the Transformers experience, but she hesitated. I approached her, encouraging her to go along, mentioning that my group was headed there too. I introduced myself, and she did the same, playing with her words in a way that made me smile.

We didn’t talk much—not for lack of things to say, but because our friends quickly took over the conversation. Still, I learned that she wasn’t from here; she was visiting, and I picked up a few details about her life in our brief exchanges. On the ride, she gripped my hand firmly, as if testing to see how much I could handle.

Afterward, as we were preparing to leave, my friends insisted on grabbing a bite to eat. We said our goodbyes, but before she walked away, I leaned in and whispered, “8 p.m. at Fool’s Crown. Ask the cab driver to take you there. Don't be late… or else.” I grinned, letting my fingers trace down her forearm. She shuddered at my touch, then smiled, mischievously replying, “Make sure you’re not late either.”

She was late. It was already 8:09, and the clock seemed to speed up with every tick. Finally, a taxi pulled up, and she stepped out in a dress and heels. Every head outside the club turned to her. Even the breeze seemed to pause for a second, as if to take in the sight of her before blowing harder, lifting her dress slightly and revealing a tattoo on her thigh. Did the wind try to read it? Or was it just checking if her skin was as smooth as it appeared?

I approached, extending my hand to her. “You sure know how to make an entrance,” I teased.

“I had to get away from...” she began, leaning into my hand, but I cut her off with a finger to her lips, winking. “As long as you made it, nothing else matters,” I said softly.

We grabbed drinks at the bar before I led her to the auditorium. The place was an old, small theater, now a concert venue. The stage still had its original, worn curtain, and the walls were peeling with age. Blue October had already started their set, and Justin’s voice echoed off the decaying walls:
"Come party with me in the daylight
Yeah, with me
Come party with me
Before the daylight gets away from me."

She was mesmerized, her eyes reflecting the music as she leaned against me, her smile full of mischief. We danced together, our bodies moving to the rhythm, my hands exploring her waist, teasing her. I wanted her to wait, savoring the anticipation.

The venue went dark, the crowd fell silent, and then the violin began. I knew what was coming—"Debris." It was my cue. I pulled her close, spun her around, and kissed her deeply, biting her lip gently. My hands roamed her body, and as the song built to its crescendo, I pressed her against the wall, lifting her leg around my waist. I needed her. Right now.

As the music reached its peak, there was nothing but us—two people, lost in passion, becoming one. Nothing else mattered in that moment but our desire.

I whispered the lyrics as the singer crooned them, the climax sweeping over both of us.

As we leaned against the wall, catching our breath, devilish grins on our faces, I leaned in and whispered, “So… who’s the psychopath now?"