Ted’s Night at Egg 27 Ted pushed open the heavy front door of the student house, his shoulders weighed down by the exhaustion of another relentless day. The hinges groaned in protest, an eerie whisper against the night’s stillness. As the door shut behind him with a soft thud, familiar scents wrapped around him—the stale aroma of old books from Room 1 on the ground floor, the sharp tang of instant noodles, and the damp musk wafting from the upstairs kitchen. It was the unchanging symphony of student survival. He paused for a moment behind the closed door, bracing himself for whatever chaos the kitchen held tonight. The air above seemed charged, a silent storm brewing. The stairs loomed ahead, each step a reminder of the ever-present minefield of Egg 27’s communal life. Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, trying to untangle both his locks and his thoughts. The day had drained him—lectures that stretched into eternity, group projects built on forced enth...
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