The door clicks shut, but their laughter bleeds through the thin walls. Minji's voice rises and falls, and Jake's low chuckle rumbles beneath it.

The hallway is quiet now. Too quiet. The kind that settles once the goodbyes have all been said and you're left with only the echo of them.

Y/n lingers outside her own door, key cold in her hand. The hallway smells like lemon cleaner and someone's burnt microwave popcorn. Far below, the city of Paris doesn't seem to care that a girl is standing frozen outside her first dorm room, fighting the lump in her throat.

Somewhere down the corridor, a door opens and closes. Footsteps fade toward the stairwell.

And then—nothing.

The wall beside Y/n's shoulder suddenly thuds, like someone flopped against it from the other side.

Their voices are warm and easy, but they belong to a room Y/n isn't in.