The air in the private room was thick with unspoken tension, a suffocating silence that fell heavy the moment Hansel Johnson walked in, his arm casually draped around Ingrid York’s waist. Miranda Sutton, peeling a clementine with practiced, meticulous movements, felt the sudden hush. Her friends’ gazes, usually averted, were now fixed on her with a mixture of pity and concern.

“Why’s everyone so quiet?” Miranda asked, her voice perhaps a touch too bright, ignoring the subtle shift in the room’s energy. “And why are you all looking at me?”

Hansel, oblivious or simply uncaring, guided Ingrid to an empty spot on the couch, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. “Happy birthday, Cal.”

Miranda’s grip tightened on the clementine. She didn't want to make a scene, not on Calvin’s birthday. With a forced, thin smile, she announced, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the sudden explosion of hushed, indignant whispers. She heard her friends’ accusations, Hansel’s indifferent replies, the clink of a lighter. Inside the sterile bathroom, Miranda stared at her reflection. A stranger looked back, pale and… hideous. A pitiful life, indeed. A deep breath. A silent decision. But as she returned, a sight in the private room made her hand tremble, almost forcing her back on her resolve. Hansel and Ingrid, lips pressed together, a thin tissue separating them, while the room erupted in raucous laughter. Six years. And now, she was nothing but a cruel joke.