The door opened slowly.
A staff member in a gray uniform stood inside,
wearing a standardized smile,
his gaze hollow and indifferent.
He glanced at him briefly, as if confirming something,
then pulled out a delicate wreath of grass from his belt,
and, without hesitation or excess motion,
slipped it around his neck.
"Freshman,"
the staff said in a voice as flat as a recording.
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"If the you outside and the you inside overlap,
you can't stay here anymore."
Without waiting for a response,
he stepped aside with a silent, fluid gesture,
like completing an inevitable line of code.
He crossed the threshold.
The door closed behind him without a sound.
Inside was a world trapped in eternal twilight.
Soft, warm lights bathed the air,
laden with scents of perfume, alcohol, and faint sweat,
weaving a heavy, velvety net over everything.
People danced, kissed, embraced, spun—
boys with girls, men with men, women with women—
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bodies intertwining in light and shadow,
like schools of slow-moving fish.
Glasses clinked, laughter burst forth,
someone wrestled playfully on a velvet couch,
someone else sprayed champagne into the air,
red ribbons floated down, wrapping around laughing couples.
Everyone was smiling.
Smiling without weight, without consequence.
As if pain, shame, responsibility had all been carefully erased,
leaving only instincts, slowly unfolding, gently flowing.
He was pushed along by the current of bodies,
his heartbeat floating, disconnected.
Then, the spell shattered.
A man knelt down at the center of the dance floor,
holding up a ring,
his voice sharp against the background hum.
The girl he faced froze.
Her smile cracked.
The surrounding crowd paused.
Glasses hung suspended.
Ribbons froze midair.
The girl's expression shifted—disgust clouding her face.
She stepped back,
turned coldly toward the silent spectators,
her eyes empty of attachment.
Moments later,
a black-uniformed guard appeared soundlessly,
grabbing the kneeling man as one might dispose of a broken toy.
The man struggled, shouted her name,
but she was already laughing again,
tangled with a new partner, lips and bodies colliding under the rain of ribbons.
The crowd resumed its spinning and embracing,
as if nothing had happened.
The man was dragged away,
leaving a wet smear on the floor,
quickly trampled and forgotten.
He stood there, stunned.
The wreath around his neck burned faintly.
Then, a gentle hand touched his shoulder.
He turned and saw her—
a tall, strong woman,
long hair tumbling over her back,
skin glowing with the sheen of health,
a tiny transparent crystal pendant hanging from her neck.
She bent slightly,
her voice low and soft, brushing past his ear like the wind:
"If the you outside and the you inside overlap,
you can't stay here anymore."
She smiled faintly,
took his hand,
and led him deeper into the twilight.
