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“Oh my god,” she says, staring at the cup in my hand with genuine concern. “You really do accept random drinks from strangers.”

I take another sip thoughtfully.

It tastes aggressively purple.

No clue what’s in it.

“Okay, in my defense,” I say, “I am profiling people first.”

Her eyes narrow. “That somehow made me more worried.”

“I have standards,” I insist. “If they look like they collect human teeth in their basement, I say no.”

“Wow. Incredible survival instincts, babe.”

“Thank you. I work very hard at making bad decisions selectively.”

Mina laughs loud enough that a couple nearby start laughing too despite having absolutely no clue what we’re talking about.

Very rave behavior from all of us really.

But that’s the weird thing I’ve come to learn about Mina.

Everything with her feels easy immediately.

Like we skipped the awkward getting-to-know-you phase and launched straight into emotionally unwell best friend territory.

Maybe trauma just speeds things up.

Maybe girls like us recognize each other faster.

Because beneath all the glitter, partying and joking around, there’s something else sitting underneath both of us too.

Something sharp and restless.

Like we’re both running from something without fully saying it out loud.

Mina grabs my hand again and drags me deeper into the crowd before I can spiral into anything weird and emotional.

Good.

Thinking feels illegal here.

I finish the rest of the mystery-purple drink in one swallow, make a face when it burns going down, then toss the empty cup somewhere into the chaos while Mina screams “THAT’S THE ENERGY I’M TALKING ABOUT” directly into my ear.

The festival keeps unfolding around us in loud blurry flashes after that.

Bass. Lights. Sweat. Smoke.

We bounce between stages until my legs start aching in my platform boots, hiding under shaded tents every now and then to cool off while strangers compliment our outfits like we’re famous instead of just aggressively unstable.

At one point Mina climbs onto this massive glowing LED platform near the main stage, pink lights flashing beneath her boots while smoke cannons blast over the crowd.

And immediately almost eats absolute shit.

“Jesus Christ,” I yell, grabbing her arm before she tumbles directly into a group of shirtless guys below us. “You move like a baby giraffe on ketamine.”

“I’m dancing!”