Palm Reader's Lightning

Maya's palms were sweating—literally dripping onto her phone screen as she scrolled through the party invite. "You're going," Zoey said, not asking. "You've been cooped up since the breakup."

"I have a chemistry test tomorrow," Maya lied, though her bookbag sat untouched by the door.

"And I have a vitamin D deficiency from never seeing sunlight," Zoey shot back. "We're both suffering. Now get dressed."

The party was at Jake's house—the same Jake whose palm Maya had read at junior prom as a joke. She'd told him his "love line" was "complicated," which was code for "I saw you texting Sarah behind my back." Tonight, she was freshly single and freshly regretting every life choice.

By 10 PM, Maya was hiding in Jake's basement bathroom, staring at her actual palm in the mirror. The lines were still there, creased from too much anxious clenching. She popped an emergency vitamin gummy from her pocket—Zoey called them her "anxiety supplements"—and checked her reflection. "You're fine," she whispered. "You're totally, completely—"

Lightning struck.

Not literally. But when the bathroom door swung open and a guy with uneven bangs and nervous energy stumbled in, Maya felt something electric crackle through her stomach. Not attraction. Recognition.

"Sorry!" he said. "Thought this was... not occupied."

"It's not," Maya said. "I mean, I am. But you can... stay?"

He laughed. A real laugh, not the performative one everyone used at parties. "I'm Leo. I was hiding from a conversation about colleges."

"Maya. I was hiding from... existing."

Leo leaned against the sink, palms flat. "My mom literally forced me to take these massive vitamins before I left. Said I need to 'build character' or something. I think they're making me weird."

"Same," Maya said, pulling her gummy bottle from her pocket. "These are 'emotional support vitamins.'"

Their hands brushed when she passed him one. Lightning again—or just static from the dry air, but whatever.

They talked for forty minutes about everything: the terrifying pressure to have their lives figured out, how weird it was that everyone treated relationships like collectibles, the way adults pretended teens weren't actual people with thoughts.

"This is the best conversation I've had in months," Leo said.

"Me too," Maya admitted.

When Zoey finally texted her, Maya found Leo on Instagram. His bio: "Professional palm reader (jk)."

She followed him immediately. Some lightning strikes weren't scary at all. Some were just unexpected connections in bathroom mirrors, palm to palm, vitamin gummies shared between strangers who weren't strangers anymore.

Her hands weren't sweating anymore. That had to count for something.