They all return straight to the hostel together.
The moment they enter, exhaustion hits everyone at once. Shoes are kicked off, bags are dropped carelessly, and soon all four—Elara, Noah, Victor, and Lucien—collapse onto the sofa like they've survived a war rather than a college project.
Lucien stretches dramatically.
"I swear, if feminism had legs, mine just gave up."
Noah laughs, leaning back.
"At least today was productive. Emotionally traumatic—but productive."
Victor nods calmly.
"We actually did something meaningful."
Alice sits quietly among them, unusually silent. No jokes. No teasing. No smug smile.
Suddenly, he stands up.
Without saying a word, he walks toward his room.
Elara notices first.
"…Where is he going?"
Noah tilts her head.
"Did we say something wrong?"
Lucien frowns.
"That's suspicious. He never leaves without making noise."
Victor watches Alice disappear into his room, thoughtful.
"Let him be."
Inside his room, Alice closes the door softly—something he rarely does.
He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he opens his laptop. The screen lights up his face, reflecting a seriousness no one outside gets to see.
He opens a private file.
His diary.
His fingers hover over the keyboard.
Then he starts typing.
Not jokes.
Not sarcasm.
Not flirtation.
Just honesty.
He writes about the professor's words.
About Elara standing confidently in class.
About feminism—not as a concept from textbooks, but as something real. Something lived.
He writes about women who fight silently.
About expectations.
About equality.
About how he had always joked around, never bothering to understand what privilege actually meant.
He pauses.
Then continues.
He writes about Elara—her strength, her discipline, her pain.
About how feminism, for the first time, didn't feel like a debate topic… but a truth he had ignored.
Outside, on the sofa—
Lucien whispers,
"Why do I feel like he's doing something serious?"
Noah nods slowly.
"Yeah… that was not a 'going-to-flirt' walk."
Elara doesn't say anything.
She just stares at the closed door.
Somewhere inside her, she senses it—
For the first time, Alice isn't running from responsibility.
He's facing it.
And for the first time that evening, the hostel feels quiet—not awkward, not tense—
Just thoughtful.
Alice finishes typing.
He re-reads what he's written—every thought, every realization about feminism, responsibility, and perspective. Then, quietly, he closes the laptop.
The room goes dark.
He takes a deep breath and steps out.
The moment Alice appears, all four pairs of eyes turn toward him like he's just walked out of an interrogation room.
Noah squints.
"…You good?"
Victor crosses his arms.
"That was… unusually silent behavior."
Lucien smirks.
"Bro, did you just unlock your emotional character arc?"
Alice rolls his eyes.
"Relax."
Elara stands up slightly.
"So? What were you doing?"
Alice shrugs casually, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"You'll find out at five."
Elara blinks.
"At the café?"
Alice nods.
"Exactly."
Lucien's eyes widen dramatically.
"Oh no."
Victor sighs already.
"Here we go."
Lucien points at Alice.
"Guys, place your bets. He's calling all his girlfriends to the café."
Noah bursts out laughing.
"Imagine—table number one, GF number three. Table number two, GF number seven."
Alice groans.
"Shut up."
Elara immediately panics.
"No. No. Alice—don't do that. Please. We're going there to study."
Alice looks genuinely offended.
"Huh? Why would I do that?"
Lucien smirks wider.
"Because chaos is your love language."
Alice fires back,
"I am not inviting anyone."
Victor raises a finger.
"Promise?"
Alice sighs.
"Promise."
Noah nods seriously.
"Good. Because if even one random girl shows up, I'm switching tables."
Lucien adds,
"Same. I don't want to accidentally become GF number thirteen."
Everyone laughs.
Elara crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes at Alice.
"I'm watching you."
Alice smirks back.
"Relax. Today, I'm on my best behavior."
Lucien gasps.
"Did feminism fix him?"
Victor deadpans.
"Miracles happen."
The clock ticks closer to five.
The chaos continues—teasing, arguing, fake accusations, and nonstop laughter.
Five people.
Five personalities.
One café waiting.
And none of them realize yet—
That five o'clock is about to change everything
5:00 PM.
The clock clicks softly.
Elara finishes tying her hair, picks up her notebook, and slips out first—
no noise, no waiting, no hesitation.
She walks with purpose.
Not because she's running away—
but because she already knows where she needs to be.
A few minutes later, the rest of them follow.
Lucien is still complaining about traffic.
Noah is adjusting her bag.
Victor is checking the time like a responsible adult.
And Alice?
He's quiet.
Too quiet.
They reach the café.
The glass door reflects the street lights.
Warm yellow light spills out from inside.
And that's when Alice sees her.
Elara.
Sitting at a table near the window.
Notebook open.
Pen moving.
Eyes focused.
She looks… calm.
Not trying to impress anyone.
Not looking around.
Not waiting.
Just being.
And that's what hits him.
🎵 "We can't be friends…" 🎵
The music starts softly in the background.
Alice stops walking.
His feet refuse to move.
He's dated loud girls.
Bold girls.
Girls who laugh too much, talk too much, leave too fast.
Girls like Elara were never his type.
Too simple.
Too serious.
Too real.
And yet—
Right now—
She's the only person in the room that exists.
🎵 "…but I'd like to just pretend…" 🎵
Elara pauses her writing.
She feels it.
That familiar weight.
She looks up.
Their eyes meet.
For a moment, the café disappears.
No Noah.
No Lucien.
No Victor.
No project.
Just them.
🎵 "…you cling to your papers and pens…" 🎵
Elara closes her notebook gently.
She stands up.
Pushes her chair back.
And lifts her hand—
Not dramatic.
Not shy.
Just a simple gesture.
Come here.
Alice still doesn't move.
His chest tightens.
Why does this feel heavier than it should?
Why does she look like a memory he never finished living?
🎵 "…wait until you like me again…" 🎵
Noah notices first.
She follows Alice's gaze.
Then smirks.
Lucien leans in.
"Ohhh."
Victor sighs quietly.
"This is going to be a long project."
The three of them walk toward Elara's table, leaving Alice behind.
Elara notices.
Her brows knit slightly.
"Alice?" she calls.
Not soft.
Not harsh.
Just… calling him back.
🎵 "…I know that you made me…" 🎵
That breaks something inside him.
Alice exhales.
Runs a hand through his hair.
And finally moves.
Each step toward her feels louder than the last.
He reaches the table.
Pulls out the chair.
Sits down—right across from her.
🎵 "…I don't like how I'm feeling…" 🎵
Their eyes meet again.
This time, neither looks away.
No smiles.
No jokes.
Just silence.
And something unspoken settling between them.
Alice realizes it then.
This isn't attraction the way he's known it.
This is recognition.
And that scares him more than anything.
🎵 "…but I wanna be friends…" 🎵
Elara breaks the silence first.
"You're late."
Alice blinks.
Then smirks, just a little.
"You started early."
She nods.
"Someone had to."
Lucien drops into a chair dramatically.
"So… are we working, or are we staring at each other all evening?"
Noah laughs.
"Both?"
Victor places the notebooks on the table.
"Let's sit before this gets worse."
But even as the group settles in—
Alice knows.
This café.
This moment.
This song in the background.
It's the beginning of something messy.
Something complicated.
Something neither of them planned.
🎵 "…we can't be friends…" 🎵
And somehow—
That line hurts more than it should.