The music was too loud, the lights too sharp and everything smelled like cheep booze. She didn’t even know half the people here.

Her friend Mia had sworn it would be 'good for her,' whatever that meant. Good for her to show up, to talk to people, to pretend that she wasn’t counting down the minutes until she could slip back to her dorm and wash the noise off her skin.

She stood near the kitchen doorway, nursing a plastic cup of something pink and fizzy, trying to look casual. The music thudded through the walls, and she nodded absently when people brushed past, eyes flicking away before they could linger too long. Most didn’t notice her. Some did. She could tell by the way their gazes paused — curious, uncertain, sometimes calculating.

Then she heard it. A low voice, just behind her.

“Hey, man — who let this guy dress up like a girl?”

The words were tossed out like a joke, but they hit like stones. Her chest tightened before her mind could even catch up. She froze, the cup trembling in her hand. She didn’t need to turn around to see his face; she already knew that smirk, that lazy cruelty that some people carried like a badge.

Her throat went dry. There were a hundred things she could have said — clever comebacks she’d rehearsed in the mirror, ways to deflect, to sound unbothered. But none of them came. Not when it mattered.

Then another voice cut through — firm, even.

“Knock it off.”

The tone was calm, but something about it carried weight. She glanced over, startled. It was a guy standing just a few feet away — broad-shouldered, familiar in that I’ve-seen-him-around-campus kind of way.

“She’s not bothering anyone,” he said. “So maybe check on your girl? She's been slobbering all over Mark."

The room’s attention shifted — the awkward, collective shuffle of people realizing the moment had turned sour. The jerk gave a snort, muttered something under his breath, and slunk off toward the living room where the bass swallowed him whole.

And just like that, the noise returned. Laughter, music, chatter — as if nothing had happened.

Except for her.

Her heart was still racing. She felt hot, like the air around her had thickened. The stranger didn’t look at her right away; he just took a sip from his drink, eyes scanning the crowd again as if to make sure the moment was over.

Then he caught her gaze and offered a small, almost shy smile.

She managed a quiet “Thanks.”

Though it barely left her throat. For a brief moment she allowed herself to imagine, to hope that maybe this night wasn't lost yet.