The invitation slipped from Maya's fingers, landing facedown on the pristine white tablecloth. It was the audacity of it all that truly got to her. Liam. Liam, her *best friend*, had somehow neglected to mention his birthday party plans, which conveniently coincided with hers. A low thrum started in her chest, a relentless vibration that seemed to match the thudding of the bass emanating from the venue she’d booked. She picked up the phone, her thumb hovering over Liam’s contact. Should she call? No. A text was better, less confrontational. Her fingers danced across the screen, composing a message that was simultaneously breezy and laced with a barely concealed irritation.
The air in the restaurant felt thick, suffocating. She tore at a breadstick, the gesture more aggressive than hungry. The thought of all the effort she’d put into this – the guest list, the decorations, the elaborate cake – now potentially overshadowed by Liam's inevitable, boisterous gathering filled her with a simmering resentment.
Maya pushed the plate away, the carefully arranged salad now looking unappetizing. She felt a knot forming in her stomach. It wasn't the competition; it was the blatant disregard. How could he?