I stood outside the restaurant like it owed me emotional damages.

  Through the window, I could see warm lights, clinking glasses, and Florence Ito’s perfect laugh echoing off the high ceilings like it paid rent. The sign by the door said "Business Casual," but the air reeked of generational wealth and sparkling water with agendas.

  I adjusted my blazer and held the gift bag tighter, like it might shield me from whatever old, powdered ghosts were about to claw their way out of my college memories.

  The last time I saw most of them was before I even knew what it meant to fall apart in front of strangers online. Back when I was still—

  ~

  Flashback: Nine Years Ago

  “...and if we run the regression model through both data sets, we can show the discrepancy in projected versus actual outcomes.”

  I said it softly. Clearly. With that voice. The one people used to call “soothing” in student evaluations, like I was a weighted blanket with a 4.0.

  Florence nodded briskly. “Right, yes. That’s good. You’re always so organized, Aoi.”

  I smiled—small, immaculate, the kind that held its shape even when everything else was cracking.

  “I can compile the slides before dinner,” I offered, already slipping my notes back into their color-coded folder.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Oh no, don’t worry. I’ll handle them!” she said quickly. “You’ve got, like, your whole situation tonight, right?”

  I hesitated. “Right. Of course.”

  She meant the reservation. The one he made three weeks ago. Somewhere expensive, somewhere quiet. They always were. He hated noise. Said it gave him a headache.

  The ring on my finger caught the fluorescent lights as I closed my laptop.

  It was delicate, but blinding platinum halo setting, vintage-cut diamond, the kind of sparkle that looked like it belonged in a museum display next to the words DO NOT TOUCH.

  Florence’s eyes flicked toward it for just a second too long.

  “Tell him I said hi!” she added, too brightly.

  “I will,” I said.

  She turned back to Neil, who was still joking about presentation fonts like he invented Helvetica.

  I didn’t correct him.

  I didn’t correct anyone.

  I left, quietly.

  Like I always did.

  ~

  Present Day

  I blinked.

  Back in the present, my hands were clenched around the gift bag. The ribbon had started to crinkle.

  You’re not her anymore, I reminded myself. You’re not the girl who said thank you when people ignored her. You’re not the girl who smiled through silence. You are literally a demon queen with a goose cult and 1.5K minions who spam bread emojis when you scream.

  The restaurant door opened.

  I stepped inside.

  Cool jazz met polished tile, and the host greeted me like he could smell the trauma.

  “Ito party?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Yes.”

  He led me through soft lighting and tasteful conversation until we reached them.

  The table.

  Florence’s laugh landed first, like a precision strike.

  She saw me and stood. “Aoi! You made it!”

  Around her, the others turned. Neil, still wearing that faint smirk like he’d been born at a networking event; Haruka, the girl who always pretended she didn’t understand sarcasm; Grace, who once borrowed my highlighters and never gave them back.

  They all smiled like they remembered me just enough to be polite about it.

  I smiled back.

  Poised. Polite. But not the same.

  I slid into the empty seat like I belonged there.

  Let the reunion begin.