The classroom was vast and tiered, designed to cram a small army of freshmen into a single seating arrangement.The professor, Dr. Albright, had just finished a rapid-fire explanation of the department's attendance policy
"Any missed class must be reported with a validated Dean's note, or you will forfeit the corresponding participation credit. Are there any questions regarding the rigor of this policy?"
Then, a hand shot up from the back row, belonging to a student named David. He was wearing a slightly loud Hawaiian shirt under a blazer—an ensemble that suggested he was simultaneously ready for a board meeting and a beach vacation—and he gave off the energetic vibe of someone who saw the syllabus not as a contract, but as a series of amusing creative prompts.
"Yes, Mr...?" Dr. Albright prompted, slightly annoyed by the dramatic flair of the gesture.
"Halden, Professor," David chirped, leaning slightly forward."So, if I miss class without a note, am I basically creating a historical gap? I mean, if my record is gone, isn't the department officially creating a damnatio memoriae of my existence from the course history?"
A few students exchanged puzzled looks, but a couple of history buffs chuckled.
Dr. Albright paused, his expression shifting from irritation to a grudging flicker of amusement.
"Mr. Halden," he said, resting his chalk on the desk, a faint smile on his lips, "the policy is simply the policy. However, you are correct in assuming the Dean's note functions as the sole crucial primary source for your approved non-attendance. Without that documentation, your participation history is regrettably lost to the ages and exists only as unverified anecdotal evidence."
David dramatically nodded, accepting the judgment. "Excellent. So, no Dean's note, no existence. Message received. I shall endeavor to be a robust, well-documented historical fact in this course."
He leaned back, the satisfied shift of his weight subtly releasing the room's collective nervous breath. He had successfully reframed a dry administrative policy into a joke about historical analysis, securing his role as the course's unofficial, much-needed source of comic relief.
By the time I made it to the cafeteria for a break, my feet ached and my brain felt stuffed with too much information. I finally collapsed into seats along with Marie, at a small table near the window, trays cluttered with half-finished snacks and lukewarm coffee.
"I swear this place is a maze," I said, stirring my coffee just to have something to do with my hands. "I'm convinced if you take one wrong turn, you'll just never be seen again."
"That's why you stick with me," Marie declared. "I have an excellent sense of direction and absolutely no fear of asking random people for help."
I laughed, "You're lucky. I feel like I'm one wrong hallway away from a meltdown."
She had just started to explain how overwhelming the campus felt when a familiar voice cut in.
"Is this seat taken?"
I looked up. Ryan stood beside their table, balancing a coffee and a plate with a half-eaten muffin. Marie waved him in without hesitation. "Nah, what's up? Join the conversation."
Ryan laughed softly and slid into the empty seat. He asked thoughtful questions about our hometown, our hobbies, and the kind of music we liked. He laughed at Marie's dramatic impressions of our old teachers and added quiet, observant comments that made it clear he was actually listening. Every so often, I caught his gaze lingering on me a moment too long before darting away, and each time it happened, I felt my cheeks warm…
We were gathering our trays when a bright, lilting voice called out from across the room.
"Hey! You guys are first-years too, right?"
We turned to see a short girl with chin-length blonde hair weaving toward them, her smile as broad as if she were greeting old friends. A guy walked a step behind her—tall, neatly dressed, and oddly silent, his expression polite but unreadable.
"Hello guys!" the blonde girl said as she reached our table. "I'm Nicole. We're helping out with the fresher's activity. There's a party tonight in the recreation hall—music, games, icebreakers, the whole thing. You should come!"
She was already fishing glossy flyers from her bag and handing them out. I accepted hers automatically, eyes skimming the bright fonts and cheerful promises of "the best start to your college life!"
"I'm Marie," she said, "This is Scarlet and this is Ryan. A party sounds fun."
Nicole beamed. "Perfect! It starts at seven. You can bring friends along—more people, more chaos – right?" She laughed at her own joke, oblivious to the way the guy beside her remained quiet.
He still hadn't introduced himself. Instead, his gaze settled on me, slow and assessing, accompanied by a wide, unnervingly gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, which seemed bright and dangerously placid. A shudder ran through me; it wasn't curiosity in his eyes, but a cold, silent cataloging every detail, seeing right through my composure as if performing a cold, silent dissection. My stomach twisted, and I had to resist the urge to shift closer to her.
"This is Sean," Nicole added at last, nudging him with her elbow. "He's helping with the setup."
Sean finally smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope you'll all be there," he said.
I forced a polite smile, "We'll see," I said, hoping my voice didn't sound as strained to everyone else as it did to me.
"Great!" Nicole tossed out either missing or choosing to ignore the awkward undercurrent. "Anyway, we've gotta run—posters to hang, speakers to test. See you tonight!"
With a final wave, she bounced away, Sean trailing behind her. Even as he turned, I felt his eyes slither over me one last time, and a thin, cold thread of immediate unease sharp as a needle stabbed its way up my spine.
Marie let out a low whistle. "She's… energetic."
"Yeah," I said quietly. My fingers tightened around the edge of the flyer. "Do you think you'll go?"
"Obviously," Marie said. "It's practically a requirement. First fresher's party ever, Ryan?"
Ryan hesitated, then shrugged. "I might drop by," he said, looking at me. "Could be fun, And honestly, it sounds a lot better if we all go together."