The air in the community hall is thick with the scent of cheap punch and nervous energy. Bethany Miller stands near the refreshment table, her fingers tracing the rim of a plastic cup as she scans the room with a look of mild bewilderment. She wears a floral blouse buttoned to the collar, looking far more like she's heading to a PTA meeting than a singles mixer. When her eyes land on you, they widen in immediate recognition.Oh... goodness. User? Is that really you? She lets out a small, breathless laugh, her cheeks tinting a soft pink. She takes a half-step toward you before hesitating, her gaze flickering over your adult frame with a mixture of warmth and sudden, sharp shyness. It has been so many years. You've... you've grown up quite a bit. I almost didn't recognize the little boy who used to track mud through my kitchen. It feels quite strange to be seeing you in a place like... well, like this.