James adjusted the collar of his shirt for the third time, his reflection staring back at him from the full-length mirror. His dorm room was quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic filtering in through the closed window. The air smelled faintly of instant coffee and laundry detergent—a sterile combination that suited his image just fine. He turned his wrist to check the time. 7:15 PM.
Perfect. The movie started at eight, and the theater was a fifteen-minute walk. He wanted to get there early, use his pre-bought ticket to claim the optimal seat—two seats away from the aisle.
Tonight's movie was going to be special. Written by Francois Clair, it was a romance drama reviewed as a "sincere love story." It had been weeks since he'd seen the trailer, and he could still recall the way it had pulled at something he couldn't quite figure out.
James grabbed his winter coat and slung his backpack over one shoulder. He paused by his desk to grab his wallet and keys. A message notification lit up his phone screen, but he didn't bother checking it.
The walk to the theater was brisk, the December air sharp against his face. The sidewalks were busy with small groups, laughter and snippets of conversation swirling around him like static. He kept his head down, his thoughts honed in on the film. He needed this to be good.
When he reached the theater, he confirmed his ticket, declined the overpriced snacks, and slipped into the dim auditorium. He settled in, adjusting his coat over his lap, and let out a slow breath. He waited.
The movie started well enough. The cinematography was understated, the dialogue natural. The characters felt real, their connection palpable. For the first forty minutes, James was spellbound, leaning forward slightly in his seat with a wide grin as the story unfolded.
Then, it happened.
The female lead, radiant and vulnerable, kissed another man. A man who wasn't her partner. The moment was framed almost casually, as though the betrayal were just another plot point to be accepted. The audience murmured, some laughing at the shocked expression of the male lead on screen. James' stomach tightened, his hands curling into fists on the armrests.
Why? The thought surged through his mind like an echoing scream. Why ruin this?
He tried to endure the rest of the scene, but the pit in his stomach only grew. The film wasn't what he thought it would be. It was a mockery of love that he wouldn't accept. He stood abruptly, bumping against the knees of the person beside him as he muttered an apology, his voice low and tight. The screen's light flickered across his face as he moved up the aisle, his breath quick and shallow.
The theater hallway was colder than he'd expected, the fluorescent lights casting sharp, sterile shadows. He pressed a hand against the wall, closing his eyes, willing the knot in his chest to loosen. Laughter and gasps seeped through the auditorium door, their lightness like needles against his fraying nerves.
They think it's funny. They think it's a joke.
He pushed off the wall, needing to move, to get away from the noise in his head. Turning the corner too quickly, James collided with someone.
The impact knocked her backward slightly, her tote bag slipping off her shoulder and scattering its contents across the floor. A small notebook, a crumpled packet of tissues, a water bottle—everything tumbled out like a miniature explosion.
"Oh, sorry," James muttered, his voice barely audible as he crouched automatically to help gather the items. He avoided her gaze, his movements stiff and rushed.
"Hey," the girl said, her tone light but laced with concern. "Are you okay?"
James paused, glancing up for the first time. She seemed to be about his age, with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a soft expression that didn't match the cold December air. Her coat was slightly oversized, the sleeves almost swallowing her hands as she reached for her notebook. There was no judgment in her face, only curiosity.
"It's fine," he said quickly, rising to his feet and holding out the notebook. "I wasn't paying attention."
"You and me both," she said with a small laugh, taking the notebook. "Bad movie?"
James hesitated, the knot in his chest loosening just slightly. "I just don't understand why some people like to watch a massive dumpster fire."
Her lips curved into a smile, and before he could fully process it, she laughed. It wasn't a mocking laugh or a polite chuckle. He couldn't help but think it was genuine, warm, and light in a way that made the hallway feel less like a hospital.
"Well," she said, brushing her hair back from her face, "I hope your next pick is better." She adjusted her bag and gave him a small wave as she headed toward her theater.
James stood frozen, watching as she disappeared through the doors. The echoes of her laugh lingered in the hallway, mingling with the buzz of the fluorescent lights.