The girl with purple hair hit her final note, and the room held its breath for half a second before exhaling into applause.
Two hundred and fifty students, give or take. Chairs filled, bodies leaning against walls, sitting on the floor near the stage. The string lights caught edges of faces, made everyone look softer, younger, more hopeful than they probably were.
Dorian didn't clap. He was already adjusting the next performer's mic level.
The soundboard hummed under his fingers. He moved between sliders and faders with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times. This was his first open mic. It didn't feel like it.
A performer glanced at him before starting. He nodded once. She began.
The lights hit better when he adjusted them. People waited a split‑second for his cues. The room wasn't aware of it. He was.
Jenna appeared at his elbow. "You're good at this."
"It's just buttons."
"It's not." She touched his forearm. Squeezed lightly. Her thumb pressed into his skin. She didn't pull away immediately. "Wow, you're… toned. Have you been working out?"
"Something like that."
He didn't pull away. Let her hand rest. Turned his head just enough to catch her eye. Held her gaze a beat longer than normal.
She looked away first.
"I have to check the…" She pointed vaguely at the stage and walked off. Her steps were uneven.
The voice: "She wants you to chase. Don't. Let her come to you."
---
Tyler and Chloe arrived.
They walked in together—close, not quite touching. Tyler's Chloe—the one he'd been texting, the one who called his voice "surprisingly calming." She wore jeans and a nervous smile. She laughed at something he said, touched his arm.
They found seats near the middle, third row. Chloe scanned the room as they settled, her gaze moving past people, then circling back. When her eyes landed on Dorian, she didn't freeze. She just… paused. A half‑second longer than necessary. Then she looked away, pretending to adjust her sleeve.
Tyler didn't notice. He was already distracted by the stage.
The next performer was the girl with the poem.
She walked to the mic, adjusted it down, pulled a crumpled paper from her pocket. Didn't announce the title. Just began.
"I wish your day starts bad and just gets worse,
Like everything good in your life reversed."
Her voice was steady, almost flat. But as she read, Dorian noticed the tiny shifts. A slight purse of her lips at the first few lines—testing the room. A dry glance up at the crowd when she hit the coffee line, checking if anyone was with her.
"I wish your coffee's cold, your bread half‑burnt,
And every small mistake is a lesson you don't learn."
Someone chuckled. She let the corner of her mouth twitch—not a smile, just acknowledgment.
"I wish you step on pain in the pettiest ways,
Like LEGO pieces waiting for you every day."
She paused there, just a beat. Looked at her paper like she was savoring the image. A girl in the front row snorted. The poet didn't react, but her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I wish you're always late when it matters most,
Missing chances you were ready to boast."
Her voice hardened. Dorian watched her jaw tighten. She wasn't performing anymore. She was meaning it.
"I wish one day you rush, no time to prepare,
And your zipper gets stuck while you're standing there—
I wish your dick gets caught in that zipper tight,
And it hurts like hell, yeah, all day, all night."
Someone coughed awkwardly. A few people shifted. The poet didn't flinch. She lifted her chin slightly, as if to say: You heard me.
I wish you freeze right there, can't scream, can't speak,
Just questioning life choices for about a week.
I wish your phone dies mid "I miss you" text,
Like even your feelings get cancelled next."
A girl near the front nodded firmly. "Preach."
The poet glanced at her—quick, grateful—then continued.
"I wish your jokes fall flat, no one laughs along,
Just silence proving you were never that strong."
She let that line hang. Her eyes swept the room, cold and deliberate. Dorian felt the sharp edge of it. Not his own hurt. Hers.
"I wish your next girl smiles, then looks at your clothes,
Says, "Whose hoodie is that?" like she already knows."
More nods. A whisper of "Damn."
"And you try to laugh, but you trip on the lie,
While she reads your face and watches you try."
She was quieter now, almost intimate. The room leaned in.
"I wish she walks away, leaves you stuck in that scene,
With nothing but doubt and nowhere to lean.
And you stand there hurting, alone in your zone—
Wearing my hoodie…
Still not your own."
A beat of silence. Then scattered clapping. Surprised laughs. A few people whispered "That was harsh." The poet folded her paper and walked off, head high.
Dorian adjusted the lights. The voice: "She meant it. You felt that, didn't you?"
He had. It wasn't his. He didn't flinch.
---
The doors opened. Elise walked in.
She wore a short, skin‑tight crimson dress that caught the string lights. Heads turned. Conversations stuttered. A guy near the stage whispered to his friend, "I wonder if I've seen her before. She looks familiar."
His friend snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you would know anyone like that. I mean, look at that ass."
Elise scanned the room. Found Kofi near the snack table. Started toward him.
Then her eyes wandered. She saw Dorian. Did a double take. Changed course.
Kofi was mid‑sentence when he noticed Elise veering away. He followed her gaze, saw Dorian, and raised an eyebrow. Rachel, beside him, watched.
Elise reached Dorian. She pressed against him, her body curving into the soundboard's edge. Her perfume was thick.
"There you are," she said, loud enough for people nearby to glance over. "I've been looking for you."
Dorian scoffed. "You didn't even know I'd be here."
She laughed, unbothered. Tilted her head, examining his face. Her eyes moved slowly, like she was reading something.
"Is it just me, or do you look even more handsome tonight?"
"It's not just you," he said. Calm. Assured.
"We should get coffee again. Like old times."
"There were no old times. We had one coffee."
She pouted. "It was a really good coffee, though." She leaned closer. "We should do something. Spend time together. You're not that busy."
He let the silence stretch. Then his hand moved—not hurried, not hesitant. It rested on the curve of her backside. Brief. Controlled.
She paused. A breath caught somewhere between surprise and interest. Not offended. Not pulling away.
The voice: "See? Nothing happened."
Elise laughed. Stepped back. Pulled out her phone and took a selfie with him in the frame.
"Text me, okay?" She winked.
She walked back toward Kofi, hips swaying, and slid into the conversation like she'd been there all along—laughing at something he said, touching his arm. Rachel's smile stayed fixed, but something sharp flickered behind her eyes. Contained, but hot.
Dorian felt it. Jealousy. Not his.
---
Kevin took the stage.
He wore a velvet cape and a beret. His shoes didn't match. Leather notebook in hand.
He glided in slowly, chin lifted, fingers poised like conducting invisible music.
"Loneliness— is a cupboard most barren."
He opened an imaginary fridge, stared inside, recoiled.
"Yet still… we return. Out of habit. Out of hope."
He stepped forward, softer.
"Hope— is a council of whispers… that leaveth thee… unseen."
He mimed typing on a phone, then slowly deleting.
"Anxiety— is the letter thou writest… and dar'st not send."
A sudden sharp turn. His cloak flared.
"The future— a parcel untracked! No courier! No promise!"
He looked around wildly, as if lost in time.
"The past— a garment too small… yet thou wearest it still— for thou art a FOOL."
He pointed accusingly at the audience, then immediately softened.
"And I—"
He placed a hand dramatically on his chest.
"I stand betwixt what was… and what shall be…"
He raised both arms to the heavens, trembling.
"A humble poet! A vessel of truth! A man in a cape… and a beret—"
"…who must confess…"
He leaned forward, completely serious.
"I hath to pee."
A long pause. He bowed deeply, like he had just delivered Shakespeare.
The applause was confused but genuine.
During the performance, Chloe glanced at Dorian again. She made it subtle—a brief look while pretending to check her phone, then another while scanning the room for the restroom. Her eyes landed on him, held for a moment, then drifted away. Dorian caught it. Held her gaze for two seconds. Three. She broke first, cheeks flushing.
Tyler didn't notice. He was watching Kevin's act. But later, during a quiet moment, he glanced over at Dorian. Studied him for a second too long. Something about it didn't sit right.
He looked at Chloe. Then back at Dorian. His jaw tightened.
---
Lisa arrived during the next lull. She found Dorian at the side of the stage and leaned against the wall beside him.
"Hey."
"Hey."
She watched the stage for a moment. "Thanks for inviting me."
"Thanks for coming."
He gave her a small, disarming smile. Her cheeks flushed slightly. She looked down, then back up.
"You look really nice tonight," she said. "Not just the lighting."
"Thanks."
She stayed. Close. Not pushing. Just present.
---
Priya sat near the back, Dan beside her. He was talking—law school, his internship—a low drone. Priya nodded, her face blank.
Dorian walked past. Slowed.
"Dan," he said, not looking at Priya. "Still trying to impress her?"
Dan's smile froze. "Excuse me?"
"Still trying to impress her." Dorian's voice was calm, almost bored. "It's not working."
Dan opened his mouth. Closed it.
Priya's eyes snapped to Dorian. Something flickered – recognition, old heat. A pulse of conflict. Want and resentment twisting together.
Dorian felt it. It reached him… and stopped.
He held her gaze a beat longer than necessary. Then he kept walking.
"He's nothing," the voice said, softer this time. "You could have her back. She's already there."
Lisa had been standing with Dorian, but during the lull she drifted toward the back of the room and found an empty seat against the wall, settling in to watch the remaining acts from a distance.
---
Dorian scanned the crowd during a quiet stretch. Faces blurred together. A knot of girls whispering. A guy checking his watch. Someone laughing too loud at a text.
The voice returned, threading through his thoughts like smoke.
"Look at them. All of them. They orbit. You don't. You're above this now. Better than this."
He didn't answer. Just kept watching.
---
Jenna returned during a break.
She stood closer than before. Her hand found his forearm again, but this time she didn't let go immediately.
"You really are good at this," she said, quieter.
"I know."
She laughed—nervous, caught off guard. But she didn't step back. She tilted her head, studying him.
"You're different tonight," she said. "I can't put my finger on it. You're… calmer. More intense. Like you're not even trying."
"Maybe I'm not."
She bit her lip. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
She laughed again, softer. Her fingers traced his arm. "You used to be easier to read."
"People change."
"Do they?" She searched his face. "Or do they just get better at hiding?"
He didn't answer. Just held her gaze.
The voice: "She's testing you. Let her. She'll stay anyway."
Jenna exhaled. "You're frustrating."
"I've been told."
She shook her head, but she was smiling. She stepped back—reluctantly—and disappeared into the crowd.
---
The final performer was a stand‑up comedian. A guy in a hoodie, nervous, pacing the stage like a caged animal. He grabbed the mic, tapped it twice, opened his mouth—
"F-first dates are stressful, man. I don't care what nobody says."
He swallowed quickly, forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Dorian noticed the way his jaw tightened, the shallow breath he took before pushing forward.
He stepped back, spread his arms.
"Because first date is not a date… it's a SURVIVAL AUDITION."
He nodded at his own words, building momentum.
"I got a checklist. Don't judge me, I NEED structure!"
He held up fingers, counting off.
"So I start my preparation like: Shower— check. Deodorant— check. Cologne— check."
He leaned in.
"Now listen, I put EXTRA cologne. I'm talking 'you smell me before you see me' level confidence."
He straightened up, chest puffed.
"Because I refuse to be the man that shows up smelling like 'potential disappointment.'"
The crowd laughed. He fed off it, pacing faster, his shoulders finally relaxing a fraction.
"So I get there. I'm calm. I'm collected."
He mimed sitting down.
"She sits down and says: 'So what do you do?'"
He froze on stage, eyes wide.
"And I freeze."
Silence.
"Because now I have to decide… do I lie and say I'm 'in tech'? Or do I tell the truth and ruin the mood immediately?"
He rubbed his chin, thinking out loud, then burst out:
"I panicked! I haven't been on a date in a while, alright? So I just blurt out: 'I'm studying philosophy.'"
A soft, subtle laugh rippled through the crowd.
"PHILOSOPHY!" He threw his hands up. "What the fuck is that?!"
The crowd laughed again.
He froze, realization dawning.
"She's just looking at me like I'm a warning label."
He mimed her expression: wide eyes, slowly leaning back.
"And I already know… there is NO second date."
He sighed, defeated.
"So now I'm just sitting there thinking: 'I came here… fully moisturized… for THIS?'"
He shrugged.
"Check. Single. Again."
He dropped the mic to his side, nodded once, and walked off.
The room erupted.
Jenna took the mic. "Thanks to everyone who came out. Good luck on exams. Don't forget to hydrate."
Tyler, from the back: "BLIMP!"
---
People filed out. Some lingered, packing chairs, coiling cables.
Dorian worked beside the others. Jenna directed volunteers. Lisa made her way back from her seat near the wall and stood close to him, folding programs, stacking cups.
When most had gone, Lisa looked at him.
"What should we do next? Want to get some drinks? Or still hang out? The night's still young."
Dorian felt something flicker in his chest. Not his own. A thread of warmth? Hope? Curiosity?
No, it was something else. Pressing at the edge of his awareness. Faint. Soft. Not demanding. Like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue.
He didn't try to name it.
"Let's walk," he said.
She nodded.
They left together.
---
The system interface flickered as they stepped outside.
LEVEL 5
STATUS: ACTIVE
PASSIVE SKILL: EMOTION LEAK
DEBT: HALTED
Dorian kept walking.
And something in him was fading away.
---
[END OF CHAPTER 38]