Amelia's POV
Finally, the weekend. Thank God. The usual chaos was gone—no rushing between lectures, no crowded halls—just the lingering obligation of that compulsory science meeting.
I'd stayed up too late the night before, whispering with my parents through a fuzzy call. They did what they always do: reminded me to take my studies seriously and never forget to pray. Their words gave me comfort, but when the call ended, the silence made the loneliness hit harder.
The meeting turned out better than I expected. I sat next to Kamen—quiet, reserved Kamen. He was as brilliant as ever, answering questions with that calm confidence I secretly admired. I just wish he'd smile once in a while. He speaks in short words and long silences, and I catch myself wishing he'd let someone in.
Later, I tried convincing Doja to skip the evening entertainment in the main hall, but once she's decided on something, there's no stopping her. I could already see the look she'd give me when I hesitated—half teasing, half determined. My dress, the one she picked out for me, was simple and neat—"too prim," she said. But to me, it felt like armor.
The program was already in full swing when we arrived. The air throbbed with music and flashing lights. Shadows moved in rhythm, laughter broke into shouts, and bodies pressed together like the whole room was spinning. Doja was in her element, dragging Anita with her onto the dance floor.
Pearl and Anita looked uneasy in their short, glittery outfits—trying to blend in, but not quite succeeding. The music was deafening, a wild mix of beats and noise that swallowed every word.
We tried climbing the stairs, but it only got worse. From the corners, couples whispered, giggled, and… well, did things that made me want to disappear. I kept murmuring, "Blood of Jesus," under my breath, a silly comfort maybe, but the only thing keeping me steady.
Doja caught me and burst out laughing. She said I was too uptight for my own good. Maybe she's right. But it still felt better to hold on to what I believed, even if everyone else seemed to move in the opposite direction.
Some students smoked openly; others vanished into the crowd, swallowed by shadows and noise. Doja and Anita danced freely, their laughter echoing through the hall. Pearl looked ready to flee.
I scanned the room, desperate for someone familiar—a face, a friend, him maybe. Kamen. But luck wasn't on my side. So I sat down, pretending to enjoy the scene: the flashing lights, the tangled movements, the noise that felt too heavy to breathe in.
Doja called out, "Come on, Amelia! Just a little fun!"
But I couldn't. I just shook my head, smiling weakly. My boundaries might make me the odd one out, but they're still mine.
My thoughts drifted to Sunday morning—early church service. It's strict, yes, but I never complain. It's the one place that feels like peace. Anita must have felt the same, because she quietly helped me slip away from the noise.
That night, lying in bed, I prayed no one would think less of me for not "loosening up." But somewhere between my whispered amens, I realized something important: maybe "living a little" isn't about breaking rules or blending in. Maybe it's about standing firm—especially when the world spins differently.
Sunday came with hymns that lifted the weight off my chest. The preacher's words weren't anything new, but they felt like exactly what I needed to hear. And as the sunlight streamed through the chapel windows, I finally understood why I never fit in out there.
Because here—in faith, in stillness—I knew exactly where I stood.