The Daring Hearts Challenge continued like a game of enchanted roulette—equal parts chaos, comedy, and unintentional talent show.
The rose was merciless.
One second it would be in the hands of a cool-looking third-year who tried (and failed) to do a dramatic monologue about heartbreak, and the next it would bounce off a chandelier and land squarely in the mashed potatoes of a stunned second-year girl who ended up singing an off-key lullaby out of panic.
I remained untouched, nursing my second lemon juice and thoroughly enjoying the chaos.
The latest victim?
A chubby first-year boy with flushed cheeks and a napkin tucked into his collar. His hands were full—one gripping a skewered fruit tart, the other suddenly occupied by a glowing rose.
The hall quieted. All eyes turned to him.
He blinked, looked at the rose, then at his tart.
Then, instead of panicking, he calmly stood up, stepped into the open circle of space, cleared his throat, and said:
