10:15 PM – The Unraveling
Camille was a battlefield of chaos and poetry.
Armed with flushed cheeks, unsteady heels, and far too much alcohol, she wobbled dramatically down the corridor outside the hall, trying to recite Shakespeare—or was it some indie poet she read once in high school?
"...the moon weeps for the strawberries of—no wait—the moon doesn't even have fruit!" she proclaimed, blinking as if she'd just unlocked a philosophical truth.
Mira, half-carrying her, half-dying inside, hissed, "Okay, Sylvia Plath, time to go." One arm around Camille, the other furiously texting.
Mira: Are you still at the venue? Help. Camille's a mess.
Two minutes later, Noah emerged from the side hall, still in his black orchestra blazer, violin case slung across his shoulder. His eyes scanned, spotted Mira, and without a word, took Camille's bag from her.
"She's quoting fruit," Mira muttered.
"I noticed," Noah replied dryly. He slid an arm under Camille's other side. Together, they began the slow, dignified evacuation of the redheaded disaster.
Meanwhile, inside—
A loud, stumbling student nearly backed into Naomi, who flinched instinctively.
Elias noticed immediately. He gently moved between her and the noise. "Want to leave early?"
Naomi looked up, relieved. "Please."
No drama, no fuss. Elias guided her out, his quiet presence shielding her from the chaos. As they disappeared into the night, the music thumped on behind them like a world they didn't quite belong to.
On the other side of the dance floor—
Luca was thriving. Or so he thought.
He was slurring English and Japanese in equal measure, hip-thrusting to the beat, dramatically flinging an arm out to challenge someone to karaoke. "Ore wa... superstar da!"
"Luca," Elara said patiently, catching him mid-spin before he hit someone. "No more mixing sake metaphors with ABBA."
Still poised, still somehow the picture of grace, she half-dragged, half-pulled him toward a corner before he publicly attempted to reenact The Lion King.
Just then, Vincent appeared beside her, eyes wide but amused. "This... wasn't in the movie script."
"Help me," Elara said dryly, looping Luca's other arm around Vincent's shoulder.
Together, the unlikely trio steered Luca toward the dorms, his karaoke ambitions left mercifully unrealized.
10:30 PM – Aftermath
The ballroom had calmed. The lighting was softer now, music turned down, the crowd thinning into cozy conversations and slow dances. A few stragglers laughed over shared drinks, others napped with party hats tilted sideways.
Mira, now changed into flats, slumped onto the fountain's edge just outside and let out a long, cathartic sigh.
The chill of the night settled around her shoulders, but she didn't mind. The worst had passed.
Inside, Seraphina stood at the edge of the dance floor, still regal in her glittering dress, though the sheen of victory had dulled into something quieter. She wasn't looking for anyone in particular—or so she told herself.
But her eyes drifted. Scanned. Searched.
Adrian.
She knew he wasn't coming. She always knew. He never did.
And yet, some small, foolish part of her had still waited. Still imagined the moment he'd appear in the doorway with that unreadable expression, as if he had just stepped out of a dream.
But dreams didn't come to parties. And Adrian didn't come for her.
Her glass swirled in her hand, untouched now. She said nothing, adjusted her posture, turned back to her circle with a flawless smile.
Only the smallest crack remained, buried just beneath the glitter.
And so, the night stretched on.
Somewhere between first impressions and chaos, lines had been drawn, friendships deepened, and reputations quietly rewritten.
As Mira trudged back toward the dorms, Camille's fuzzy slippers flopped awkwardly with every step—two sizes too big and completely unsuited for the slippery tiles. She clutched both pairs of their high heels in one hand, the straps tangled like bad decisions. Her hair was already starting to frizz.
"How did I let this happen," she muttered. "Should've burned these heels the minute I bought them. Or better—never touched them in the first place."
A cold plop landed on her cheek.
She paused. Looked up.
Another drop. Then another.
"Oh no. No no no—!"
The rain broke open in a sudden fury, slanting sideways with wind, slicing the air like thrown needles. Mira bolted from the stone path, slippers slapping uselessly beneath her. The heels in her hand clinked with each step, their silver straps tangled in her grip like jewelry gone rogue.
She barely made it to the narrow corridor connecting the lecture wing and the east dormitory—an architectural afterthought with half a roof and puddles collecting along the edges. Still, it was better than the open sky. Mira stopped under the overhang, breath shallow, back to the wall, the cold sinking through the damp silk of her dress. Her bare shoulders broke out in goosebumps.
She clutched the shoes to her chest and let out a bitter exhale.
"Perfect," she muttered, jaw tight. "Absolutely perfect."
A strand of silver hair stuck to her cheek. She flicked it away and stared ahead at nothing. Behind her, the echo of distant music was a thread too thin to follow, fading beneath the patter of rain.
Her dress clung to her ribs, her legs were streaked with droplets, and one slipper was coming apart at the toe. At least Camille was tucked in. At least no one had vomited on her. Small victories.
Mira stepped out again when the rain thinned into a misty drizzle, sprinting the short stretch between buildings—the part with no cover, just cold stone and open sky. She dashed forward, bare feet slapping the wet stone. Ahead, someone else walked with an umbrella, steady and dry beneath a dome of black. She passed him without thinking, the air split by her hurried steps.
Only when she reached the elevator at the dormitory entrance did she glance back.
The man was walking toward her, calm and composed, the umbrella tilting just enough to shield his gold eyes from the flickering hallway light.
Mira's hand hovered over the elevator panel. The door had just opened.
She hesitated.
Then pressed the button to hold it.
He stepped inside, closing the umbrella with a quiet click.
Adrian Vale didn't say a word. He didn't look at her, nor at the water puddling at her feet. He stood beside her as if she were invisible, a soaked ghost in party clothes.
She cleared her throat, just once.
He nodded—barely.
And the elevator rose in silence.
Mira caught their reflection in the mirror panel—him, calm and composed in his usual dark sweater, hair barely touched by the rain. And her…a glitter-smeared, shivering mess in a damp party dress and mismatched footwear.
She looked away.
The silence was deafening.
She tried to stand still, to not let her teeth chatter too loudly, to keep her heels from squeaking against the tile. Her arms crossed tight over her chest, and she shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
God.
She must look ridiculous.
In a party dress. Slippers. Carrying shoes like a gremlin.
And standing next to Adrian Vale.
She caught her own reflection again and stifled a laugh.
This was objectively hilarious.
"Never mind," she thought. "He won't pay attention. He probably didn't even notice. He's not the type to care."
She let out a small breath, half a smile curling on her lips.
"It's fine. I'm fine. No one will ever know."
Ding.
The elevator stopped.
As the doors opened, Adrian stepped out first, then waited just a step ahead. Mira walked out quickly after him, clutching her heels tighter.
He glanced back, just briefly.
"…Night," he said, voice low.
She blinked, then nodded. "Night."
And just like that, he disappeared into his room.
As soon as she closed her door, Mira let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
She dropped the useless heels by the entry and peeled off Camille's floppy slippers. The dorm was dark and quiet—blessedly so. Not only had she walked through the rain in what looked like a disaster cosplay of Cinderella and a drowned cat, but she also stood next to Adrian Vale. The walking enigma. The university legend.
Why couldn't she have just disappeared into the night like a normal person?
She pressed her forehead to the cool wood of her door, arms hanging limp at her sides.
As if the universe had handed her a perfectly scripted humiliation: rain, glitter, damp straps slipping off her shoulders, and of all people to share an elevator with—it had to be him. The untouchable Adrian Vale, dry and immaculate, as if the weather bent politely around him.
Mira groaned, dragging herself toward the bathroom.
The mirror was unforgiving.
Her eyeliner had fled. Her hair, once loosely curled, now clung to her neck in pitiful strands. Her dress—how had she ever thought it was a good idea—looked like it had been salvaged from a sunken ship. Glitter smudged her collarbone, and mascara hovered just under her eyes like bruises.
She threw her head back and groaned again, louder this time.
"Good job, Mira," she muttered. "Truly elite-level decision making. Nothing says dignity like rain-soaked slippers and standing in silence next to Adrian freaking Vale like some soggy cryptid."
She turned on the tap, splashed water on her face, and watched the shimmer slide down the drain.
This was fine.
This was all going to be fine.
She would wash off the night, pretend it never happened, and swear Camille to secrecy. No one needed to know. Least of all, Adrian.
But still—when she closed her eyes, she could see it again. The way he'd paused, just slightly, before stepping out of the elevator. The glance over his shoulder. The soft, too-quiet "Night."
She shook her head fast enough to make drops fall from her hair.
Nope. Nope. Not thinking about it.
Mira grabbed a towel, buried her face in it, and grumbled one last time:
"I need new friends. And a portal out of this timeline."