By Friday night, the whole campus knew.
There was going to be a party.
Not one of the cheap dorm gatherings with bad speakers and warm beer.
No—this was the kind of party that had a name before it even started.
"The Studio Night."
Hosted by upperclassmen.
Sponsored (quietly) by people with too much money.
Discussed on Scarlet Thread 48 hours in advance like a prophecy:
"THE STUDIO NIGHT: Fine Arts, Finance, and Bad Decisions"
Special guests rumored.
Limited invites.
Dress code:
don't come soft.
Soung Ka Byar stared at the post on her phone, curled up on her dorm bed, heart pounding.
She hadn't planned to go.
She'd had enough of being seen this week.
Being mis-seen.
Misunderstood.
Misread.
Mistranslated into things she wasn't.
Part of her wanted to shut everything out. Stay in her room. Hide in assignments and sketches and the thin safety of routine.
Someone knocked on her door.
She locked her phone and sat up.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Soe Hlaing May peeked inside, dressed in a simple black dress that made her look older, softer, more luminous somehow. Her hair fell loosely past her shoulders, and she held two folded pieces of fabric over her arm.
"You're not dressed," Soe said.
"I'm not going," Ka Byar replied.
Soe stepped in and shut the door gently behind her.
"You said that about orientation too. You still showed up."
"That was different."
"How?"
"That was mandatory."
"So is this," Soe said calmly. "If you want to survive in Fine Arts."
Ka Byar frowned.
"Survive? It's just a party."
Soe gave a small, humorless smile.
"No. It's social proof."
She moved closer, dropped the folded fabric onto the bed.
"I brought options."
"I don't—"
"Try them on," Soe insisted softly. "If you still hate the idea after, we stay in. I'll fake a stomach ache for both of us."
Ka Byar sighed.
"You're manipulative."
"I'm practical."
They stared at each other for a beat.
Then Ka Byar picked up the first dress.
It wasn't as dramatic as she expected.
A deep midnight-blue slip dress, simple but elegant, that fell just under her knees. Thin straps. Soft fabric. It didn't scream for attention. It whispered.
Ka Byar smoothed the material over her hips, staring at herself in the mirror.
"I look… exposed," she murmured.
"You look like a Fine Arts student at a party," Soe said, standing behind her reflection.
"I feel like I'm pretending to be someone else."
"Is that a bad thing?" Soe asked.
Ka Byar frowned at herself.
"I don't know yet."
Soe rested her chin lightly on Ka Byar's shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror.
"If you don't go," Soe said, "they'll say you're weak. If you do go, they'll say you're desperate to fit in. Either way, they'll talk."
"Then what's the point?" Ka Byar whispered.
"The point," Soe said, "is that at least you choose what they talk about."
That settled it.
Ten minutes later, they were walking through campus, the night humming around them — laughter spilling from open windows, cars pulling up, music pulsing faintly from a distance like a heartbeat.
The party wasn't on campus, technically — it was in a rented studio space a few blocks away, used occasionally by YLU students for exhibitions and unofficial disasters.
Tonight, it would be both.
From the outside, the studio looked harmless.
A converted warehouse.
Tall windows.
Fairy lights strung across the front entrance.
From the inside, it was a different world.
The music was loud but smooth — bass-heavy, echoing off the concrete walls. Colored lights washed over the crowd in slow waves of blue and purple. Canvases had been pushed to the sides, replaced with long tables covered in drinks, snacks, and a chaotic assortment of party games.
And everywhere—
people.
Klar Za Min in a blood-red dress, surrounded by her orbit of admirers.
Hsu Myat Thin perched on a barstool, phone in hand, eyes scanning the room for content.
Aung Pyae sitting on a couch, already two drinks in, nodding vaguely at the rhythm.
And near the back, leaning against a pillar, watching without pretending not to—
Min Yatu Htun Paing.
In a black shirt and dark jeans, sleeves rolled, collar open.
He looked like he belonged in every room he walked into.
The moment Ka Byar stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted just a little. Not dramatically. Not obviously.
But enough.
Heads turned.
Whispers flickered like cigarette sparks.
Soe squeezed her hand.
"Don't look down," she murmured.
"I want to."
"Don't."
They walked deeper into the studio.
Klar spotted them first.
"Oh, she came," Klar said, lips curving as she poured a drink into a plastic cup. "How brave."
She glided toward them, drink in hand, smile too sweet to be safe.
"Ka Byar," she purred. "You look… better than usual."
"Thanks," Ka Byar replied, keeping her tone neutral.
"First Studio Night?" Klar asked.
"Yes."
"I remember my first," Klar said nostalgically. "I got so drunk I nearly confessed to a professor."
Hsu giggled behind her.
Ka Byar's stomach knotted.
"Don't worry," Klar added. "Nothing happened. He had… better judgment."
The implication hung between them like smoke.
Before Ka Byar could respond, someone else approached.
"Are you bothering my guests, Klar?" Min Yatu asked.
He didn't sound angry.
He didn't have to.
Klar's smile tightened.
"Just welcoming them," she said.
"Welcome them from further away," he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Since when do you care?"
Her gaze flickered between him and Ka Byar.
Whatever she saw there made her smirk return.
"As you wish," she said. "Host."
She walked away, hips swaying, dragging Hsu along with her.
Ka Byar exhaled.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"Yes," Min Yatu replied. "I did."
He looked at her fully then.
And his eyes…
They changed.
Not in a dramatic slow-motion movie way.
Not with fireworks.
But with quiet, undeniable awareness.
"You look different," he said.
"I look like I borrowed a life from someone else," she muttered.
"It suits you."
She blinked.
"Being someone else?"
"Being visible," he said.
Her cheeks warmed.
He turned to Soe.
"You too," he added. "Didn't expect you here."
"I'm the chaperone," Soe said lightly.
He smirked.
"Good. She'll need one."
The first drinking game started at the main table.
No truth-or-dare.
No confession circles.
Cards and cups.
Kings.
A circle of plastic cups.
One big cup in the middle — the "King's cup".
Klar called out for players.
"Come on," she said. "Don't be boring. It's Fine Arts, not church."
Ka Byar hesitated.
Soe nudged her.
"Just one round," Soe murmured. "We'll leave if it gets ugly."
Min Yatu watched her.
"If you go," he said, "don't drink more than three times. You're not used to it."
She glared at him.
"You sound like my father."
"I sound like someone who doesn't want you to black out in a stranger's studio."
She rolled her eyes.
But she listened.
At least at first.
They gathered around the table.
Klar took the deck and shuffled it theatrically.
"Rules are simple," she said. "You pick a card, you do what it says, or you drink. No backing out. If you pull a King, you pour some of your drink into the center. Last King drinks it all."
Groans.
Laughter.
Someone turned up the music.
Ka Byar sat between Soe and Min Yatu, heart racing.
Klar drew the first card.
"Ah," she said. "Category: pick a topic. We go around quickly. Whoever hesitates drinks."
She grinned.
"Category: YLU scandals."
The table exploded into laughter.
Names and incidents flew:
"The Finance cheating ring."
"The stolen exam papers in Law."
"The dorm fire."
"That one girl who fainted during critique."
"The Architecture lecturer and the third-year—"
Eyes flickered toward Ka Byar.
Someone chuckled.
She hesitated.
Just long enough.
"Drink," Klar sang.
Ka Byar lifted the cup to her lips and swallowed.
It burned.
Not too much.
Not terrible.
Just warm and sharp and new.
The game moved on.
Cards flipped.
Rules invoked.
"Two is you—pick someone to drink."
"Four is floor—last one to touch it drinks."
"Seven is heaven—hands up or you drink."
"Jack—make a rule."
Someone made a rule:
"No saying 'sorry.'"
Another:
"No touching your hair."
Ka Byar broke both within minutes.
Each penalty came with more alcohol.
Each swallow blurred the edges of the room a little more.
Min Yatu mostly watched.
He drank when he had to.
Cheated once or twice by only pretending to sip.
"Slow down," he murmured to Ka Byar when she laughed too hard at nothing.
"I'm fine," she said.
He didn't look convinced.
Soe nudged her gently.
"You're at four," she whispered.
"Four isn't deadly," Ka Byar replied, voice already softer around the edges.
"Not by itself," Soe said. "But Klar is watching how many you've had."
Ka Byar glanced across the table.
Klar smiled like a cat.
Another card.
Another round.
At some point, Ka Byar stopped counting.
Her cheeks grew warm.
Her fingers tingled.
Her mind floated pleasantly a few centimeters above her body.
The music pulsed.
The lights spun.
Someone spilled something on the table and everyone laughed.
She leaned against the back of the stool and let herself drift.
She didn't notice the moment Klar's rule changed.
"New rule," Klar declared after drawing another Jack. "If your first name starts with S or M, and you don't drink when someone says your name, you drink double."
"Soe," someone called immediately.
Soe sighed and lifted her cup.
"Min Yatu," Klar added with faux sweetness.
He drank without blinking.
Eventually—
"Soung Ka Byar."
She frowned.
"That's not how—"
"First name starts with S," Klar insisted. "Drink."
"It's S-O-U-N-G," Ka Byar muttered, already lifting the cup anyway.
The alcohol burned hotter this time.
The room buzzed.
Her pulse slowed and sped at the same time.
Min Yatu's brows furrowed.
"She's done," he said.
"We're all adults," Klar replied. "Let her decide."
Ka Byar opened her mouth to say she was fine.
The words got lost somewhere between her throat and her thoughts.
She stood.
The world tilted just enough to make her grab the edge of the table.
Soe stood up instantly.
"Let's get you air," Soe said.
"I'm okay," Ka Byar insisted, though the floor seemed unsure where to stay.
"Outside," Soe repeated.
Min Yatu moved too.
"I'll take her."
Soe hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
"You better bring her back conscious," she warned.
He rolled his eyes.
"I'm not Klar."
He took Ka Byar's arm gently.
"Come on."
They stepped away from the table as another cheer went up — someone pulled the third King.
The middle cup was almost full.
Ka Byar let herself be led.
Each step felt slow, heavy, important.
Like walking through water and music and eyes.
The balcony was quieter.
Cool air brushed against her overheated skin.
The city lights blinked below like tired stars.
The bass from the party thumped faintly through the glass door behind them.
Ka Byar leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply.
"Better?" Min Yatu asked.
"Spinning," she admitted. "But… pretty."
He watched her in the half-light.
The fairy lights strung above the balcony cast soft gold across her face. It made her look unreal. Or maybe too real.
"Don't drink anything else," he said.
"You're very bossy," she mumbled.
"You're very breakable."
She turned her head slowly.
"I'm not," she said. "Not anymore."
"Today doesn't count," he replied. "You're drunk. That's not strength. That's absence of brakes."
She laughed softly.
"Say that again. That sounded smart."
He smiled despite himself.
"You're impossible," he murmured.
Wind brushed her hair across her face. She didn't move to fix it.
He reached out, slowly, and tucked a strand behind her ear.
She froze.
The touch was gentle.
Too gentle.
Her heart stuttered.
For a moment, all the noise fell away.
It was just the two of them.
The night.
The faint smell of alcohol and cologne and something she was afraid to name.
She closed her eyes.
And for a second—
she wasn't on a balcony.
She was in a studio.
Under bright white light.
Charcoal on her fingers.
His voice telling her not to be small.
His hand guiding her wrist.
Don't fear the canvas.
You're changing.
Stop apologizing.
Her chest tightened.
"Naya…" she whispered before she could stop herself.
Everything inside Min Yatu went very, very still.
His hand, still hovering near her face, curled into a fist.
"What did you call me?" he asked, voice quiet.
She didn't answer.
Her eyes were closed.
Her head swayed slightly.
She stepped forward — just half a step — closing the tiny distance between them.
Her fingers brushed his shirt.
Her breath touched his mouth.
And before Min Yatu could process what was happening,
before he could say her name,
before he could decide anything at all—
Ka Byar tipped her face up and kissed him.
Softly.
Desperately.
Completely.
He felt everything at once.
The warmth of her mouth.
The taste of cheap alcohol and something achingly innocent.
The way her fingers curled into his shirt like she was trying to anchor herself.
For one suspended moment, his brain went quiet.
All the jealousy.
All the anger.
All the weeks of watching her walk through storms that weren't meant for her.
Gone.
There was only this:
The girl he couldn't stop thinking about.
Kissing him like she was drowning.
He kissed her back.
Because he was weak.
Because he wanted to.
Because he'd thought about this since the first time she looked at him like he wasn't just his father's son.
He kissed her back until the part of him that listened woke up and heard the echo of her earlier.
Naya…
He broke the kiss abruptly.
"Ka Byar," he said, breathless. "Look at me."
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused.
Confused.
He watched the realization break across her face in stages:
The balcony.
The lights.
The shirt she was gripping.
His face.
Not Naya's.
Her expression crumpled.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, no…"
She stepped back, nearly stumbling.
He caught her wrist.
"Careful."
"No," she said quickly, jerkily. "No, I— I thought—"
"I know who you thought," he said.
Pain slipped between his words.
She shook her head, eyes wide.
"I didn't mean— I wasn't—"
"You still did," he said softly.
The sentence wasn't an accusation.
It was just the truth.
Her chest heaved.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
There it was again.
"Don't," he said. "We're not allowed to say sorry tonight, remember?"
She almost laughed.
Almost.
Tears burned instead.
"I shouldn't have—"
"You're drunk," he said. "You're not yourself."
"But I am," she answered, voice breaking. "That's the worst part."
He swallowed.
"You think you kissed the wrong person," he said.
She flinched.
"I think I used the right person for the wrong reason," she replied.
The honesty gutted him.
He let go of her wrist.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Then I'll remember it. You don't have to."
She stared at him, trembling.
"That's not fair."
"Nothing about you has been fair to me," he said.
The words landed between them like shattered glass.
He took a step back.
"Go inside," he murmured. "Drink water. Find Soe."
She opened her mouth.
"Please," he added.
She turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last.
Min Yatu stayed on the balcony.
Alone.
He tilted his head back and stared at the sky.
It looked too far away.
He laughed once, humorless.
"Of course," he said to no one. "Of course it was him even when it was me."
Inside, the party swelled.
Outside, on the balcony, a boy leaned against the railing and finally admitted to himself that he was already in too deep—
with a girl who had just kissed him by accident.
Back inside, Soe's eyes widened as Ka Byar reappeared, pale and shaken.
"What happened?" Soe asked, pulling her to the side.
Ka Byar's throat felt tight.
"N-nothing. I just… I need water."
Soe grabbed a bottle from a nearby table and pressed it into her hand.
"You look like you saw a ghost," Soe whispered.
"I think I tried to kiss one," Ka Byar muttered.
Soe frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing," Ka Byar said quickly. "I… don't want to talk about it."
Soe studied her.
She didn't push further.
But she would remember this.
Later.
When everything got worse.
The next morning, Scarlet Thread posted.
"BALCONY SILHOUETTES AND BAD DECISIONS"
At last night's Studio Night, sources spotted our favorite Fine Arts triangle in motion again.
A balcony.
Two silhouettes.
A kiss that looked… intense.
Was it N.T?
Was it M.Y?
We're not sure yet.
But one thing is certain:
The scholarship girl isn't playing soft anymore.
Ka Byar stared at the screen, heart pounding, hands clammy.
Silhouette only.
No faces.
But she recognized the outline of her own hair.
She recognized the angle of his shoulders.
She recognized the beginning of something she couldn't take back.
She closed her eyes.
She remembered the warmth of his mouth.
The echo of his voice.
"Nothing about you has been fair to me."
She also remembered the name she'd whispered—
Naya.
Shame crawled through her veins.
Desire, too.
Confusion, worst of all.
She dropped back on her bed, head spinning.
Somewhere else on campus—
Min Yatu read the same post and clenched his jaw.
Klar smirked and screenshotted it.
Soe sighed and whispered a quiet, "Oh no."
And Naya Thone, seated at his desk, saw only the headline—
"Balcony Silhouettes"—
and wondered, for one brief, flickering, dangerous second…
if it had been him