Expect the Unexpected

Episode 2: Queen of the Night

The night I became Queen of the Night didn’t start the way one might expect.

I was late.

Not fashionably late, not intentionally late—just late.

And it wasn’t because I wanted to make an entrance. It was because I had spent the past hour locked in a silent battle with my makeup artist, struggling between my usual tendency to please people and the courage to finally speak my mind.

I had always been the kind of person who nodded, smiled, and went along with what was expected of me. But tonight, something felt different.

As the makeup artist dusted another layer of foundation onto my face, I stared at my reflection and felt… wrong. The bold, heavy makeup, the exaggerated eyeliner—it wasn’t me.

For a moment, I hesitated, my usual instinct kicking in. Just accept it. Don’t make a fuss. It’s just makeup.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t about the makeup.

It was about finally choosing myself.

So, I took a deep breath, met the artist’s eyes in the mirror, and spoke.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t like this.”

The words felt foreign on my tongue, and for a split second, I feared the awkwardness that would follow. But instead of protesting, the artist paused, nodded, and asked, “What would you like instead?”

Simple. Direct. No drama.

For once, I wasn’t a people-pleaser. I was just me.

We removed the heavy makeup, and I applied a light, natural look on my own—just a soft glow, a hint of blush, and a touch of color on my lips. Simple, elegant, effortless.

By the time I was finally ready, I was running late. But I wasn’t panicked.

Because, for the first time, I felt like myself.

On the way to the venue, my aunt and cousin accompanied me, chatting casually as if I wasn’t about to walk into one of the biggest nights of my high school life. I had already eaten at my aunt’s house, so while everyone else would be indulging in the banquet, I was simply there to experience the night.

And then, the moment I stepped inside… everything stopped.

I hadn’t even fully processed the grandeur of the ballroom when I noticed the shift in the air.

The music didn’t stop, but the energy did. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

I froze.

Confusion flickered through me until I realized—they were all looking at me.

For a second, I didn’t understand why. Then, I caught sight of my reflection in one of the decorative mirrors and finally saw what they saw.

A vision in deep blue.

My gown hugged my figure perfectly—a mermaid silhouette that cascaded elegantly down to the floor, shimmering under the ballroom lights. The daring slit on my right leg highlighted the contrast between the deep blue fabric and my porcelain skin. The light makeup complemented my features instead of overshadowing them.

I wasn’t just attending the ball.

I was the ball.

And judging by the stunned faces around me, everyone else knew it too.

Before I could fully process it, my colleagues rushed toward me, greeting me with beso on both cheeks, their voices filled with excitement.

“You look stunning!”

“Gorgeous as always!”

I smiled, murmuring polite thank-yous, but a small part of me was still processing what had just happened.

I had never seen my presence have such an impact before.

It wasn’t just about my looks—it was something more. Something unspoken.

And for once, I didn’t feel the pressure to explain it.

I just accepted it.

As the night went on, I played my part gracefully—smiling, engaging in small talk, acknowledging compliments—but there was one thing I refused to do.

Dance.

I had always been good at avoiding it, weaving through the crowd whenever someone approached, excusing myself to get a drink, pretending to be preoccupied.

And eventually, when the attention became overwhelming, I did what I always did best. I disappeared.

A quick retreat to the restroom gave me a moment of peace, away from the eyes, the whispers, the admiration. I exhaled, letting the noise of the ballroom fade into the background.

But when I stepped back into the hall, something unexpected happened.

The host’s voice rang through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce our King of the Night!”

I barely paid attention—until I heard the name.

It was him.

The guy I had rejected a year ago.

Tall, charming, deceptively angelic in looks. The one many girls adored but whom I had turned down without hesitation.

Because while others were drawn to his beauty, I had been searching for something deeper—intellect, emotional depth, substance.

And so, despite the applause and excitement, I was shocked.

Not because he won.

But because, out of all people, he was the one.

And then—

“And now, our Queen of the Night!”

I had barely processed his victory when the next name was called.

My name.

For a moment, I thought I misheard.

But then the cheers erupted, cameras flashed, and I realized—this was real.

I was Queen of the Night.

The murmurs spread instantly.

People exchanged glances. His girlfriend stiffened. The entire ballroom seemed to buzz with the irony of it all.

Of course it would be us. The two people with history. The two most talked-about figures in the room.

I knew what they were expecting—some kind of moment. A reaction. An awkward exchange.

But as I walked onto the stage, standing beside the King I had once rejected, I didn’t give them what they wanted.

I simply smiled for the cameras.

Poised. Serene. Unbothered.

The cheers grew louder, the flash of lights brighter, the weight of my crown settling onto my head.

And yet, I didn’t think about him. Or the murmurs. Or the irony.

I didn’t think about anything at all.

Because again, I was truly out of words.

To Be Continued…