"My fellow classmates, today belongs to us!"
Gwen's voice echoed confidently through the college auditorium, strong and clear.
The crowd quieted almost immediately — not because they were polite, but because Gwen radiated presence.
She wasn't just the top student of the graduating class; she was its shining star.
With a perfect GPA and a hundred job offers surely waiting in her inbox, Gwen stood at the podium like she owned the future.
And, if we're being honest, she probably did.
She was stunning — long auburn hair cascading in soft waves down her back, hazel eyes that glimmered with ambition, and a smile that looked rehearsed but somehow still sincere.
Her figure was elegant yet curvaceous, the kind that made dresses jealous. In that black graduation gown, she looked more like a diplomat than a student.
She gripped the podium with confidence and began her speech.
"Four years ago, we came here terrified. Let's be honest. Most of us didn't even know how laundry machines worked. We stumbled in with plastic folders, shaky hopes, and Wi-Fi passwords written on the backs of our hands. And then something happened. We survived. No — more than that. We thrived. We pulled all-nighters for finals we swore we were going to fail. We had moments of doubt, panic, and caffeine overdoses. But we kept going. We built friendships. We fought over group projects. We cried over grades, then cried again over tuition fees. And now, we stand here. Together as Graduates." Gwen said and then took a deep breath.
"But this ceremony is not an ending — it's a checkpoint. A save file before the real boss fight begins. Out there is the real world, with jobs that may not hire us, bills that certainly will, and dreams that don't come with deadline extensions but I want you to remember this: we've made it this far. We learned how to adapt, how to rise. No matter how unremarkable we may have felt, today proves we are capable of doing something remarkable. We may scatter after this — different cities, different paths, maybe even different continents. But this moment? This chapter? It belongs to all of us."
She took another deep breath.
"So let's not walk out of here today thinking about the fear of what's next. Let's walk out ready to build the lives we imagined when we first walked in. Congratulations to the Class of 2025. We did it!"
Applause exploded through the auditorium. Students stood up, some whistling, others even wiping away tears.
Gwen flashed her signature smile, stepped away from the podium, and descended the stage with her circle of equally glamorous friends.
Across the room, James slammed a plastic cup onto the table and yelled, "Another drink!"
The bartender, who looked like he'd already regretted taking a shift during graduation week, simply sighed and poured another.
"Hey, easy," Arlo said, glancing at his best friend. "At this rate, you're gonna have to be carried out."
James waved him off. "It's our college graduation, bro. You think I care? After tonight, it's job hunting, 9-to-5 torture, and eating noodles without seasoning."
Arlo couldn't argue. He was a recent graduate with no job offers and a vague plan to "figure it out."
He wasn't bad-looking by any means though.
Arlo had sharp blue eyes, the kind that always looked mildly unimpressed, and thick, dark hair that curled slightly at the ends.
The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealed lean arms, and he had that brooding, "mysterious stranger at the bookstore" energy.
He raised a hand to the bartender. "I'll take something mild. I need to remember tonight, not wake up with regrets and no wallet."
James laughed. "You need to loosen up. This is probably the last night we'll all be together before capitalism swallows our souls."
"Touching."
Across the room, Gwen and her friends were making their way down from the stage. Their gowns swayed, heels clicking softly against the floor.
The way they moved with such confidence was enough to turn heads in every direction.
James nudged Arlo and leaned in. "Bro… those girls are all so damn curvy. Like, it's criminal. How do they even sit without causing earthquakes?"
Arlo frowned. "Can you not objectify them for five minutes?"
James shrugged. "It's the last day. I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
Arlo sighed… and nodded.
He wasn't blind. They were beautiful.
And James wasn't wrong — they had curves in all the right places. But his eyes, traitorous as always, kept drifting back to Gwen.
James caught him red-handed. "Ohoho. Somebody's got a crush on the valedictorian."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"She's smart, gorgeous, and practically perfect. Who wouldn't have a crush?"
"Exactly my point. Time to shoot your shot, Romeo."
Before Arlo could object, James clapped his hands. "Let's go invite them out. One last bar crawl for the history books."
They approached the group cautiously — well, Arlo did.
James walked like he already knew the answer would be yes.
"Hey ladies," he said, "We were thinking of continuing the party at The Velvet Pine. You in?"
The girls exchanged glances. Gwen raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Sure," one of them said with a grin. "Why not?"
"Give us thirty minutes."
...
Thirty minutes later, The Velvet Pine was buzzing with laughter, cheap music, and the sound of future adults pretending they weren't terrified of tomorrow.
The group had grown — James invited more guys to "even the playing field."
Now it was five guys and five girls, all squeezed into a booth meant for six.
"To finishing college!" someone shouted, raising a drink.
"To surviving!" someone else added.
They clinked glasses, drank, and immediately launched into wild stories, confessions, and flirtations. James already had a girl laughing like he'd invented humor.
Arlo, meanwhile, sipped his drink quietly, occasionally joining in but mostly observing.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed.
BZZZT. BZZZT. BZZZT.
He ignored it.
BZZZT. BZZZT.
Still going.
BZZZT.
He sighed, pulled the phone from his pocket, and blinked at the screen.
Dad.
"Huh," he muttered.
"Hot girl?" James asked.
"No, worse — my dad."
"Oof. You gonna answer?"
"Yeah. Be right back."
Arlo stepped out into the night. The cold air hit him instantly. He answered.
"Hey."
His father's voice came through, calm and distant. "Arlo. Listen. I'm leaving the country for a while."
"Wait, what? Where?"
"Somewhere sunny. Not important. What's important is that I need you to take over the resort."
Arlo blinked. "The… what?"
"The one in Valemire. You remember. It's yours now. I've already sent the paperwork. Check your email. It's your inheritance. Keep it afloat."
"Dad—what are you talking about—"
But the line had already gone dead.
He stared at his phone and called back.
A robotic voice greeted him.
"The number you are trying to reach is no longer available."
Arlo stood there, under flickering neon, holding a drink in one hand and the sudden weight of responsibility in the other.
"Did I just… get handed a whole business over one phone call?"