vomit on my abandoned shirt serves as an unwelcome testimony to the bizarre events. Frustration and embarrassment surge, aggravated by t

unfold like a detective's unraveling case. The walk, the enigmatic man, and the regrettable vomit incid

mingly immune to hangovers, greets me with a bright smile. After a teasing remark about their "fun," she drops a

turn to my apartment t

ent from the previous night. Thoughts of that attractive man and my unfortunate

reen tea, attempting to soothe my throbbing throat. The clock's harsh r

gating the sea of people, I finally locate my class, Room 103A. Opting for a

herself, her gaze scanning my f

be caught off guard by her unexpec

inquire, "O

classroom. An inexplicable sadness washes over me. Cou

, but I dismiss it as a hangover-induced blur. However, when he turns around, the shock

he comments on my attire, leaving me flustered and ashamed. The lecture becomes a blu

ue in a week. I run through the syllabus, noticin

roach him again. "Professor?" I start, a

tory. His reaction is severe, a cryptic warning lingering in the air. Alone and stunned, I'm l