Daniela Avanzini

the night had stretched longer than it was supposed to. the event was all lights and cameras, laughter echoing through the room, people talking too loud and smiling too wide. katseye had been there for a performance, and you were tagging along, part friend, part collaborator, the lines between both always blurry.

you’d known them for a while now. late-night studio sessions, shared hotel breakfasts, inside jokes whispered between rehearsals. it was all familiar. and so was Daniela. especially her.

she’d always had that quiet pull, something about her calm confidence, the way her gaze lingered a moment too long, how she spoke like she already knew what you were going to say. the two of you had never put a name to whatever was between you, but it was there. everyone could feel it.

at the after-party, the crowd pressed closer, music louder, lights flashing off champagne glasses. someone, some famous someone, had been talking to you for a while, leaning in too close, laughing at things that weren’t that funny. you’d smiled politely, tried to pull away a few times, but the room was chaos.

and across it, you’d seen her. daniela. watching. not moving, not saying a word, but her eyes said enough.

by the time you got back to the hotel, it was quiet again. the halls dim, the hum of air conditioning filling the silence. katseye had already gone to their rooms. you were supposed to crash in the suite with them, but when you walked in, she was there, sitting on the couch, scrolling on her phone like she didn’t care.

“you’re late,” she said without looking up.

“yeah. got caught up talking.”

“mhm.”

her tone was light, but the air wasn’t. she didn’t glance up when you sat beside her. you could feel the distance, the kind that wasn’t physical, but heavy all the same.