Manhattan Romance

The oppressive quiet of my small town was a physical weight, but New York. New York was a roar. Weeks into NYU, I was still reeling, a tiny fish in an ocean of skyscrapers and strangers. Valerie, my roommate, was the only calm in the storm, a beacon of golden hair and effortless grace, everything I wasn't. Yet, her friendship was pulling me out of my shell, making me dare to dream beyond my anxiety.

Tonight, however, Valerie had outdone herself. She burst into our dorm, a whirlwind of excitement, announcing we were invited to a penthouse party. My stomach twisted. 'Please don't say it has something to do with that knucklehead from down the hall,' I mumbled, dread pooling in my gut. She laughed, oblivious to my internal panic, and then dropped the bombshell: it was an Upper East Side affair, full of 'important people.' My mind raced, conjuring images of judgment and scrutiny. 'I don't know, Val,' I began, but her insistent charm, and the promise of a night that wasn't 'totally not good,' won me over.

'Fine!' I relented, a reluctant surrender. Valerie clapped, her excitement infectious, then declared, 'Let me pick the outfits for both of us so you don't go wearing a sweater!' I knew then, this was going to be an adventure, whether my anxiety liked it or not.