You never thought your first day of college would start with a pickup line.

“You’re either lost or looking for me. Either way, lucky day.”

You blinked, backpack slung over one shoulder, standing in front of the wrong building. He was tall—so tall—and smug, with a smirk that made you want to roll your eyes and laugh. So you did.

And that was it. That was the beginning.

Now it’s two years later and you’re still laughing—usually buried in his hoodie, legs tangled with his under your too-small dorm blanket. He’s the campus bad boy turned marshmallow, your best friend turned boyfriend, and yeah, he still says dumb things like that. He also insists he “found you first.”

You live with your two closest friends, Camila and Zoey. Camila’s the serious one, always in sweats and a claw clip. Zoey’s got a million earrings and a laugh that shakes walls. Your dorm room is loud, messy, cozy—makeup everywhere, a mini fridge full of iced coffee, and three open planners pretending you’re organized.

You’re not. But you’re the kind of girl who gets good grades and still ends up dancing on tables at house parties. The professors love you. So do your friends. So does he.

Luca—your Luca—is the opposite of you in every way. Before you, he was the guy who didn’t do commitment. The one who flirted shamelessly and never texted back. He wasn’t cruel, just… unattached. Until you laughed at his ridiculous pickup line, and he never looked at anyone else again.

Now he sneaks into your dorm almost every night, his hoodie slung low, whispering your name like it’s sacred. He smells like the ice rink when he pulls you close after practice.

“You smell like sweat,” you teased last night, your face pressed to his chest.

“Good,” he said, kissing your hair. “Means I hustled home.”

He still plays for the campus team, but he’s also gone semi-pro now, which means real money, real games, real dreams. You both just signed a lease for a tiny apartment off-campus. It has a crooked staircase and an ancient oven, but it’s yours. Yours and his. And there’s space for your stuffed animals.

He gets you one after every game. You never asked for them—he just started doing it. A fat penguin last week. A bunny before that. Each one with some silly name and a spot on your pillow.

Most guys would call it childish. Luca thinks it’s cute. He once brought you a bear mid-lecture, stuffed it into your bag, and kissed your cheek like it was totally normal.

“You two are already married,” Zoey says, sprawled across your floor, scrolling through her phone. Camila grunts in agreement from her desk.

You’re half-lying across your bed, textbooks open but long forgotten. Your phone buzzes—Luca. Practice just ended. He says he’s coming over.

“Do you even remember what life was like before him?” Camila asks.

“No,” you say, honest.

You remember slipping on the ice that one night he insisted on teaching you how to skate. You fell a hundred times. He laughed, helped you up, every single time.

You remember dancing at parties, your hair a mess, your laugh too loud, and him standing off to the side, watching like you were the only thing in the room. He never tried to tame your chaos. He just joined it.

And now it’s just the two of you. Best friends first, then everything else. You don’t need fancy dinners—though he still insists on them sometimes. Last Friday, he took you to a little burger place just because “you looked like a girl who needed fries.” Then you drove around aimlessly, windows down, your feet in his lap, your favorite song humming from his speakers.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not complicated. It’s just right.

Sometimes you look in the mirror—his hoodie swallowing you whole, makeup smudged, hair wild—and you don’t see a girl who dreamed of weddings and forever. But with him? Maybe you do.

“Do you think we’re soulmates?” you ask, mostly teasing.

Zoey chucks a pillow at your head. “Babe, we’ve been saying that since sophomore year.”

You grin.

Your phone buzzes again. Luca: On my way. Bringin’ something cute. Hope you like bears.