Lucky Strike

You almost turned around at the door.

The faculty party announcement had been pinned to the noticeboard for two weeks—bright pink paper with bold black letters: “Faculty of Arts & Humanities End-of-Term Gathering, Main Hall, 8 PM.” You had walked past it every day, eyes sliding away, pretending you hadn’t seen it. Introverts like you didn’t go to faculty parties. You stayed in your tiny dorm room with the curtains half-drawn, headphones on, textbooks open to pages you had already read three times. Parties were for people who knew how to stand in groups without looking like they were calculating the fastest exit route.

But tonight something small and stubborn had pushed you out of the dorm. Maybe it was the way the semester had felt longer than usual. Maybe it was the quiet voice in your head that said if you never went once, you would keep wondering what it felt like. So you put on the least wrinkled black shirt you owned, the dark jeans that didn’t have holes yet, and a pair of clean sneakers. You left your room at 8:17, ten minutes late on purpose so the crowd would already be thick enough to hide in.

The main hall of the university arts building was a long, high-ceilinged space that usually held guest lectures and thesis presentations. Tonight it had been transformed. The fluorescent lights were off. Instead, a dense web of disco lights and LED strips painted everything in shifting colours—deep violet, electric blue, sudden bursts of hot pink, then a slow sweep of gold that made the polished floor look like liquid metal. A fog machine near the stage exhaled thin white clouds that drifted low, catching the light and turning it into something dreamlike and slightly unreal. The bass from the speakers was already vibrating through the soles of your shoes even from the doorway.

You stood just inside the entrance for a full thirty seconds, one hand still resting on the heavy wooden door as if it might swing shut and lock you out again. The air was warmer than the corridor, thick with the mixed scents of perfume, cologne, cheap beer from the plastic cups people were holding, and the faint sweetness of the fog fluid. Voices layered over one another—laughter, shouted greetings, the rise and fall of conversations that never quite resolved into clear sentences. Bodies moved in and out of the coloured beams, faces half-lit, half-shadowed.

You took a careful step forward. Then another. Your heart was already beating too fast, the familiar tight feeling under your ribs that always came when there were too many people and nowhere obvious to stand. You slipped your hands into your pockets so no one would see them fidgeting.

The disco lights kept turning. A slow rotating spotlight swept across the crowd and for a moment everything went gold. You blinked, dazzled. When the light moved on, the after-image stayed on your retinas like a soft bruise. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your wrist and kept walking, staying close to the wall on the left side of the hall where the speakers were slightly quieter.

Near the long refreshment tables a group of students were already clustered, plastic cups in hand. You recognised a few faces from shared lectures but none of them looked in your direction. That was fine. You preferred it that way. You reached the drinks table and stared at the options—cans of beer in a plastic tub of melting ice, bottles of soju, cartons of juice, and a large bowl of something pink and vaguely alcoholic with floating fruit. You chose a can of beer because it was the simplest decision, cracked it open, and took a small sip that tasted mostly of cold metal.

The lights shifted again. A sudden cascade of blue and purple washed over the hall, and for a few seconds the fog thickened, turning people into silhouettes. You stood still, letting the colours move across your face, feeling strangely detached from your own body. It was like watching a film of yourself standing in a party instead of actually being there. The bass line changed to something slower and more melodic, and the crowd adjusted, some people swaying, others still talking in tight circles.

That was when you saw her for the first time.

An Yujin was standing near the middle of the floor with two other students, laughing at something one of them had said. Even in the shifting lights she was easy to spot—tall, posture straight, dark hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders. She wore a simple white blouse tucked into high-waisted black trousers, sleeves rolled to the elbows. There was an easy confidence in the way she held her cup, the way she leaned in to hear better over the music. Someone said something that made her throw her head back slightly, eyes closing for a second as she laughed. The gold light caught the curve of her neck and the small silver earring in her left ear. You looked away quickly, feeling the familiar heat rise in your face even though she hadn’t glanced in your direction.

You moved further along the wall, past a group of third-years arguing about a film assignment. The fog had thinned again. Pink light swept across the stage at the far end where a student DJ was bent over a laptop, headphones around his neck. The music rose and fell in waves that made the plastic cups on the tables vibrate.

Near the edge of the dance floor you caught sight of another familiar face. Gaeul was leaning against one of the thick support pillars, arms loosely crossed, a half-empty cup dangling from her fingers. Her hair was shorter than you remembered from the last time you had seen her in the library—cut in a clean, slightly messy style that framed her sharp features. She wore a dark oversized blazer over a thin black top and wide-legged trousers that pooled a little over her boots. She looked completely at ease, eyes half-lidded as she watched the crowd with the calm of someone who had already decided she didn’t need to join any particular group. A first-year tried to talk to her; she answered with a small nod and a short sentence you couldn’t hear. The student eventually drifted away. Gaeul’s expression didn’t change.

You took another sip of beer. It was still cold. The alcohol had not yet reached your bloodstream, but the simple act of holding the can gave your hands something to do.

The lights turned again—sudden bright white strobes that made everything look like a series of still photographs. In one of those frozen flashes you saw Rei. She was on the actual dance floor, moving with the kind of loose, unselfconscious energy that made other people smile without knowing why. Her hair was tied in two low pigtails that swung when she turned her head. She wore a cropped grey hoodie and black cargo pants, and every time the strobe hit she seemed to be mid-laugh, mouth open, eyes bright. A small group had formed around her—people she clearly knew, dancing more because she was there than because of the music. When the strobes stopped and the soft blue wash returned, she was still moving, one hand raised as if conducting an invisible orchestra. You watched for a few seconds longer than you meant to, then forced your eyes away.

Your back found the wall again. You slid down it slightly until your shoulders rested against the cool plaster. From this angle you could see almost the entire hall without standing in the middle of it. The fog machine exhaled another soft cloud. The lights cycled through deep red, then emerald green, then back to the slow rotating gold that made the whole room feel underwater.

That was when you noticed Jang Wonyoung.

She was near the far side of the refreshment tables, talking to two girls from the design department. Even from a distance she looked like she belonged in a different, quieter room. Her long black hair was perfectly straight, falling past her waist. She wore a pale cream sweater that looked expensive and soft, paired with a short black skirt and simple loafers. One hand held a cup of the pink punch; the other gestured lightly as she spoke. The people around her seemed to lean in without realising it. When she smiled the lights caught the sharp line of her cheekbones and the careful shape of her eyes. She looked up once, scanning the room as if searching for someone, and for a fraction of a second her gaze passed over the area where you were standing. You looked down at your beer can immediately, heart giving a single hard thud against your ribs.

You stayed against the wall for what felt like a long time, letting the music and the coloured light wash over you. The introvert part of your brain kept listing reasons to leave—too many people, too loud, no clear place to sit, the growing certainty that someone would eventually notice you standing alone and decide to take pity. But another, quieter part kept you there. The disco lights were strangely hypnotic. Every time they changed, the room became a new version of itself. Faces appeared and disappeared. Conversations rose and fell like tides.

You finished the first can and went back to the table for a second, mostly so you would have a reason to move. As you reached for another beer your elbow brushed against someone.

“Oh—sorry,” a soft voice said.

You looked up and found yourself face to face with Leeseo.

She was smaller than you expected up close, dark hair cut in a neat bob that moved when she tilted her head. She wore a simple black dress with a short denim jacket over it, and there was a plastic cup of juice in her hand. Her eyes were wide and curious, the kind that seemed to take in everything at once.

“It’s fine,” you said, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

She smiled—bright, quick, a little shy. “You’re in Professor Han’s modern literature class, right? I think I’ve seen you in the back row.”

You nodded, surprised she had noticed. “Yeah. Last semester.”

“I sit near the front. You always look like you’re concentrating really hard.” She laughed softly, the sound almost lost under the music. “I’m Leeseo. First year, but I take some second-year electives.”

“Nice to meet you,” you managed. Your face felt warm. The lights chose that moment to shift into a deep violet, painting both of you in the same strange colour.

Leeseo glanced toward the dance floor, then back at you. “Are you here with friends?”

You shook your head once. “First time coming to one of these.”

Her expression brightened further, as if that was the most interesting thing she had heard all evening. “Really? Me too, kind of. I came with some people from the student council but they all scattered. It’s a lot, isn’t it?” She gestured vaguely at the swirling lights and the moving crowd. “I keep thinking I’m going to spill something on someone.”

You almost smiled. “I’ve been staying near the wall for the same reason.”

She laughed again, softer this time. “Smart. Well… if you get bored of the wall, some of us are going to try to claim one of the corner tables later. You’re welcome to sit if you want. No pressure.”

Before you could answer she gave a small wave with her free hand and drifted back toward a group of first-years who were calling her name. You watched her go, the denim jacket bright under the next sweep of gold light, then returned to your place against the wall with the new can of beer.

The party continued to breathe around you. Music shifted into something with a heavier beat. More people filled the floor. The fog grew thicker near the stage. You stayed where you were, letting the colours move across your skin, feeling the bass in your chest, the cold metal of the can against your palm. Every so often you would catch a flash of one of the others—Yujin’s confident laugh, Gaeul’s still silhouette against a pillar, Rei’s bright energy on the floor, Wonyoung’s quiet elegance near the tables, Leeseo’s quick smile as she moved between groups.

The disco lights had just shifted into a deep, slow violet when your eyes drifted past the covered windows and landed on the girl standing a little apart from everyone else. She was half in shadow, half caught in the coloured beam, and for a second your brain refused to accept that it was the same quiet girl you sometimes saw in the library with her head bent over a notebook.

Liz.

She was wearing something completely different from the soft cream sweater you had imagined her in. A sheer leopard-print top clung to her in a way that felt almost unfair under the party lights—thin, translucent fabric patterned with soft brown and black spots, short sleeves that ended high on her upper arms, the neckline dipping just enough to show the delicate line of her collarbones and the subtle curve beneath. The material was semi-transparent; every time the lights moved you could see the faint outline of the beige tank top she wore underneath, and the soft shape of her body moving with her breath. A small graphic was printed across the chest in faded lettering. She had paired it with tiny black shorts that sat high on her hips, leaving a clean strip of pale skin between the hem of the top and the waistband. On her feet were black strappy sandals with thin gold buckles that caught the light whenever she shifted her weight.

Her long brown hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the bangs slightly messy as if she had pushed them back with her fingers more than once. She was holding a clear plastic cup filled with something dark red—beet juice, from the colour—and the way she lifted it occasionally made the sheer sleeve of her top slide a little higher on her arm.

She looked both out of place and strangely perfect for the party.

While everyone else moved in loud clusters, Liz stayed near the wall, one shoulder almost touching the dark fabric that covered the windows. Every so often the rotating gold spotlight would sweep over her and turn the leopard print into something warmer, almost golden, before the light moved on and left her in cooler violet again. She kept glancing up at the disco lights the same way you had when you first walked in—eyes wide, lips slightly parted, as if the shifting colours still surprised her.

You watched her take a small sip from the cup. The red liquid left a faint stain on her lower lip. She wiped it away with the side of her thumb, then stuck her tongue out for half a second in a tiny, private grimace, as if the juice was stronger than she expected. The gesture was so unguarded it made something in your chest tighten. She didn’t notice you looking. She was still half-turned toward the lights, the sheer top catching every change of colour, the black shorts making her legs look longer under the strappy sandals.

A group of students passed between you and her, momentarily blocking the view. When they moved on she had shifted position. She was crouching now, back against the wall, one knee drawn up, the other foot flat on the floor. The pose made the shorts ride a little higher on her thighs. She rested her cheek against her knuckles, elbow propped on her knee, and simply watched the party from that lower angle. The pink leopard-print stars someone had stuck on the wall behind her seemed to float above her head like they belonged there.

You stayed against your own stretch of wall, beer can forgotten in your hand, and let the music and the lights continue around you. Every few seconds the colours would change and paint her differently—violet across the sheer fabric, then a sudden white strobe that made the leopard spots stand out sharply, then soft gold that turned her hair almost auburn. She never looked completely comfortable, but she didn’t leave either. She just stayed there in that tiny black shorts and that see-through leopard top, quietly existing inside the noise, the same way you were.

The bass line shifted again. Somewhere on the dance floor Rei laughed loudly. Yujin’s voice carried for a moment above the music. But your eyes kept returning to the girl by the window—Liz in the leopard-print top that barely pretended to be modest under the disco lights, holding her red juice, cheeks faintly pink, looking like she had wandered into the party by accident and decided to stay just a little longer.

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