Chapter 8

The air inside the glass was thick with the scent of melted popcorn and stale beer, a perfume of indulgence that clung to my skin long after we left the theater box. Outside, the night had cooled, the humid Texas heat finally breaking under the weight of a moonless sky. We stood by the edge of the gravel lot, the vintage neon sign of *The Starlight Drive-In* flickering above us, casting intermittent pulses of electric pink and blue across the rows of sedans. The sign buzzed, a dying insect sound that seemed to echo the low hum of engines idling in the distance. It was time. The illusion of our secluded universe was dissolving, replaced by the rigid structure of the real world, and I felt a strange, hollow ache in my chest as the magic began to thin. I watched him pack up the last of our belongings, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to memorize the texture of the moment. He rolled up the blanket we had shared, the one that still held the faint imprint of our bodies, the heat radiating from his shoulder still burning through the fabric. I kept my hands in