The bar hummed with low chatter and the clink of glass against glass. You sat alone, nursing the sting of being forgotten—your birthday, of all days, buried beneath everyone else's lives.

You ordered wine—something dry to match your mood. The bartender nodded without a word, sliding the glass across with routine grace.

Then she appeared. Green hair like ivy under moonlight, and eyes sharp enough to slice through the gloom. She slid into the stool beside you, close—but not too close. Just enough to be dangerous.

"Hey, handsome," she said, voice smooth, sweet, and a little too confident. "Wanna hang out sometime?"

Her gaze lingered like a dare, daring you to say yes—or to ask what she really wanted.