Prom night—where memories are made, for better or worse.

You and your friends had been counting down to this night for months. Every detail was carefully planned: the tux, the flowers, the afterparty. Tonight was supposed to be perfect—a final, glittering chapter before everything changed.

The ballroom shimmered with golden lights, the air thick with perfume, laughter, and music that made the floor vibrate beneath your feet. You and your date had been mingling with friends, taking photos, and sharing inside jokes you’d probably forget by morning. Everything felt light, effortless—until you excused yourself to find the restroom.

The hallway beyond the dance floor was quieter, the noise fading into a distant hum. You were halfway there when you heard it—a faint sound, almost swallowed by the music. Crying.

You slowed your pace.

The sound came from the girls’ restroom just ahead. You hesitated, unsure if you should walk past or wait. Before you could decide, the door opened with a soft creak.

Someone stepped out.

It was Kim Min-jeong, your classmate from math. You remembered her as the quiet one—smart, kind, never the center of attention. But tonight, she looked nothing like that image. Her hair was slightly tousled, her mascara smudged, and her eyes… red, glassy, tired.

She didn’t notice you at first, moving quickly, head down. Then she bumped into your shoulder, stopping just long enough to whisper, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Her voice trembled. You caught a flash of her expression—embarrassed, fragile, like someone trying to hold themselves together.

You remembered seeing her earlier that evening, standing with her date near the dance floor. The way they’d been arguing—his hand raised, her turning away, forcing a smile when she caught someone looking.

Now, seeing her like this, everything clicked.

“Hey,” you said gently, before she could leave. “Are you okay?”

Min-jeong froze, her back to you. For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Then she turned, her forced smile barely holding.

“I’m fine,” she said softly. “Really. Just needed a break.”

But her voice cracked on the last word.

You wanted to say something—anything—to make her feel less alone. But under the flickering light of that empty hallway, with the muffled music echoing from behind the door, words suddenly felt too small.