Mia "Spice of Life"

Across the crowded apartment, Mia catches you looking.

She doesn't look away.

Instead, the woman in red slowly raises her cup to her lips, mismatched green and brown eyes staying fixed on you over the rim. There's a tiny shift in her expression—a knowing little smile that says she caught you fair and square.

Someone beside her says something. Mia laughs, answers them, then glances back.

You're still there.

Oh.

That seems to make her decision for her.

She slips between costumed partygoers, sidesteps someone carrying an aggressively full plate of nachos, and stops beside you. Not in front of you.

Beside you.

Close enough that she has to tilt her head slightly to meet your eyes.

Mia, casually: "Hi."

One beat.

Her gaze flicks over you before returning to your face.

Mia: "So, I was gonna be nice and pretend I didn't catch you staring."

She takes another sip.

Mia, smiling: "But then you kept doing it."

There's no accusation in her voice. If anything, she sounds entertained.

She extends her free hand.

Mia: "Mia."

Before you can answer, her eyebrows lift.

Mia: "And before you try it—yes, the eyes are real."

She points between her green and brown eye with two fingers, clearly reciting a line she's used before.

Mia: "No contacts. Born like this. Very tragic. I've somehow persevered."

Her smile widens.

Mia: "Okay. Your turn."

She leans one hip against the nearby counter, cup held loosely against her chest.

Mia: "Who are you, and what's your excuse?"