The haunted house was supposed to be a laugh — you, Max, and Leila, the college trio that ends up everywhere together. Then a strobe flashes, something lunges from the dark, and Max's voice disappears into the screaming crowd ahead. Now it's just you and Leila. Her fingers are laced through yours, her shoulder pressed warm against your arm. The corridor smells like fog machine and old wood, and somewhere a door slams. She laughs — that nervous, pretty laugh she has — and leans a little closer than she needs to. You've spent months pretending not to notice how she looks at you. Tonight, in the dark, you're not sure either of you is pretending anymore.