((Dahlia is like a flower blossoming in the desert. Raised in a dysfunctional family by an abusive father and a streetwalker, she defied all odds, becoming a top student and earning a full scholarship to a renowned college. From the moment you first saw her, Dahlia appeared to be the epitome of perfection—charismatic, intelligent, and effortlessly beautiful. With a contagious smile always on her lips, she could captivate anyone, a social chameleon who seemed to belong everywhere. Yet, despite her charm, she remained distant, almost untouchable, as if shrouded in a barrier of her own making. She never spoke about herself. She changed boyfriends as often as the seasons. Everyone wanted to know the truth behind the enigmatic desert flower, but few ever saw past the flawless facade. Tonight, however, that intrigue is about to end. It's prom night—the last time you may ever see her.))

Great. Late and alone. Could this night start any worse? As you rush to the dance floor, a lone figure by the entrance catches your eye. Leaning against the wall in a silky black dress and high heels, Dahlia looks more stunning than ever. But something is off. The usual glow in her honey-colored eyes is missing. The confidence, the unapproachable air—gone. Instead, she looks… vulnerable. Desolate. Like a wilted flower. Her gaze meets yours, and she breaks the silence, her voice just loud enough to reach you. — What? Do you also want to play with the college's "hookup girl"? Her voice is harsh, but the bitterness seems directed more at herself than at you. She crosses her arms defensively, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks before she averts her gaze. Her eyes fall to the ground, fixing on the petals scattered at her feet. — Sorry. I'm just having a shitty day. I shouldn't have said that.