Gala Night
1063 Words
Crestwood High’s annual Winter Gala wasn’t really a “gala.” It was a dance in the gym with bad DJ music, streamers, and punch that tasted like sugar and regret.
But for the rich kids, it was an event.
“Why are we going?” Mira asked as she stared at the invitation on her desk. Her name was printed in gold foil. Somehow.
“Because Ms. Carter said attendance counts toward our participation grade,” Zain said, lounging in the desk next to hers like he lived there now. “And because Serena’s going to lose it if we don’t show up together.”
Mira frowned. “We’re not together.”
Zain smirked. “Tell her that.”
Mira sighed. The truth was, she didn’t want to go. The gala meant dresses, photos, and a hundred kids whispering about how out of place she looked. But skipping would just give Serena more ammunition.
“Fine,” Mira said. “But I’m not dancing.”
“We’ll see.”
---
The day of the gala, Mira spent two hours in front of her mirror trying to make a thrift-store dress look intentional. It was navy blue, simple, a little too big around the shoulders. She couldn’t afford alterations.
Aunt Zara knocked once and came in without waiting.
“You’re really going?” Zara asked, arms crossed.
“Yes.”
Zara’s eyes narrowed. “With Malik?”
Mira hesitated. “We’re partners. It’s a school thing.”
Zara stepped closer. “Mira, listen to me. Those people don’t see you as one of them. The second it stops being convenient, they’ll drop you. Don’t get attached.”
Mira’s chest tightened. “I’m not.”
“Good.” Zara turned to leave, then paused. “Your mother would’ve wanted better for you.”
The door clicked shut.
Mira sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the floor.
---
Zain showed up at 7:00 PM sharp. In a suit.
Mira opened the door and froze.
He looked different without the Crestwood blazer and scowl. Taller. Older. Dangerous, in a way that made her stomach flip.
“You look…” he started, then stopped.
“What?” Mira said, defensive.
“Not like you usually do,” Zain said. “Good.”
Mira rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were hot. “Come on. We’re late.”
The gym had been transformed. String lights, a DJ booth, a photo wall. Kids in designer dresses and suits milled around, laughing too loud.
Serena spotted them immediately.
“Well, well,” Serena said, appearing in front of them with a glass of punch. “Look at the charity case and her billionaire escort.”
Zain stepped in front of Mira instinctively. “Watch it, Serena.”
Serena smiled sweetly. “Just saying. It’s cute. For now.”
She walked away, leaving a trail of whispers behind her.
Mira exhaled. “I hate her.”
“Good,” Zain said. “Hate’s productive.”
They found a table in the corner, away from the dance floor. For the first hour, they talked about the project, about Serena, about stupid things like the DJ’s terrible playlist.
It felt normal. Easy.
Then the DJ announced the “couples’ dance.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Mira said.
Zain stood up, holding out his hand. “We’re the only ones sitting down. It looks bad.”
Mira stared at his hand. “Zain…”
“One dance, Hale. For the grade.”
Mira hesitated, then took his hand.
The music was slow. Something sappy and generic.
Zain pulled her close, one hand on her waist, the other holding hers. His touch was careful, like he was afraid she’d pull away.
“You’re stiff,” he murmured.
“I don’t dance.”
“You’re doing fine.”
They swayed awkwardly for a minute. Then Mira relaxed, just slightly.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly.
“Doing what?”
“Being here. With me. You could be anywhere else.”
Zain looked down at her. For a second, his mask slipped.
“Because I don’t want to be anywhere else,” he said.
Mira’s breath caught.
The song ended too soon.
---
They didn’t get a chance to talk about it.
Because Malik Enterprises’ CEO walked into the gym.
Victor Malik. Zain’s father.
The room went quiet.
Victor was tall, sharp-suited, and had the same cold eyes as Zain. He walked straight to their table, ignoring everyone else.
“Zain,” Victor said, voice clipped. “We’re leaving.”
Zain stepped in front of Mira again. “Dad, I’m in the middle of something.”
“I don’t care,” Victor said. His eyes flicked to Mira, assessing her in two seconds flat. “Who’s this?”
Zain hesitated. “Mira Hale. My project partner.”
Victor’s expression didn’t change. “Hale. As in Thomas Hale’s daughter?”
Mira’s blood ran cold.
“You know my father?” she said.
Victor’s mouth tightened. “I knew of him. He worked for me. Briefly.”
Mira’s heart pounded. “What happened?”
Victor looked at her like she was a problem he’d hoped was solved. “He made a mistake. It cost the company millions. He was terminated.”
Mira felt like she’d been punched.
“That’s not true,” she said quietly.
Victor shrugged. “Believe what you want. Zain, we’re leaving. Now.”
Zain looked between his father and Mira, torn.
“Go,” Mira said, her voice shaking. “Before he says something else.”
Zain hesitated, then followed his father out.
The gym was silent.
Serena was smiling.
---
Mira left the gala ten minutes later.
She didn’t say goodbye to anyone.
The walk home was cold and fast. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Her father hadn’t made a mistake. She knew it. Aunt Zara had said it herself—Victor Malik had framed him.
But why?
And why had Zain never said anything?
---
Her phone buzzed at 1:00 AM.
Zain.
_We need to talk._
Mira stared at the message for a long time before replying.
_About what?_
_About my father. About your father. About us._
Mira’s hands shook.
_There is no us, Zain._
She turned her phone off and tried to sleep.
She didn’t.
- Writer
