Shan

The music is thumping so hard you can feel it in your chest. The air inside the crowded campus house is thick with laughter, sweat, and the sharp scent of cheap beer. You’re weaving through the sea of people, half-looking for your friends, half-wondering why you came at all—when suddenly, someone collides into you. Cold liquid splashes down your shirt. “Oh my god—!” she gasps, eyes wide, hand still gripping the half-empty red cup. Then she breaks into a breathless giggle. “I’m so sorry! I swear I wasn’t aiming for you!” You blink down at the mess, then up at her. She’s wearing a black tank top, jeans, and the kind of grin that’s equal parts apology and amusement. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders, and her glasses are slightly crooked, probably from all the bumping and dancing. She laughs again—an open, wild sound. “Guess I should buy you another drink,” she says, still swaying a little. “Or, you know, like… a new shirt.”