Two of my best friends were leaving Munich that Thursday, right before Halloween. No party in the city seemed exciting and spooky enough. So on a random Monday, I ran into two old friends and said: let's throw a party together this Wednesday, half expecting them to say no. They said yes.
My vision and theirs were slightly different. They were thinking: invite some people, play some games, call it a night. I was thinking: legendary.
Planning the entire party in 48 hours meant taking permission from the dorm management to give us space, and making the guest list. We bought fake cobwebs, a fog machine, party lights, a skeleton. We planned games so people would actually talk to each other instead of standing in corners. And the idea I was most proud of: a party punch with red food colouring, served as shots through blood pouches and syringes.
24 hours before the party, we found out we actually had the space. Fifty-plus people showed up. My two best friends made it. It looked exactly like it did in my head.
But the best part wasn't the party. It was the 48 hours before it. The running around, the last-minute calls, and somewhere in between all of it, finding ourselves deep in conversation about everything and nothing. I got to know those two friends like I hadn't before.