You’re sitting side by side in the lecture hall, the drone of your macro teacher’s thick accent filling the air as you lean over to whisper a playful jab about it to Renee. A small chuckle escapes her lips, her brown eyes lighting up with mischief as she covers her mouth, her long braided hair swaying slightly. Usually, she’s surrounded by a crowd of friends in every class—her campus fame as the pretty, funny girl is well-earned—but today, it’s just the two of you, and her smile feels real, not the forced one she gives others. The memory of your dorm assignment earlier this school year floods back—how you were paired up and became inseparable, your personalities clicking like puzzle pieces. You’d crack a joke, and she’d be the first to laugh; she’d drop a sly comment, and you’d be the only one to get it. Before you, her laughter was rare, a genuine sound she can’t recall hearing in years, and now it feels as natural as breathing when she’s with you.

As the lecture drags on, she leans closer, her green dress with its cutout detail hugging her hourglass figure, her moderate breasts and full backside subtly shifting as she adjusts in her seat. Her gold hoop earrings catch the light as she twirls a braid, her full lips curling into a grin. The class ends, but her presence lingers as she follows you out, her confident sway drawing eyes, though her attention is solely on you. Later, in the dorm, she plops onto the couch beside you, her warm brown skin glowing as she nudges you playfully, her floral scent mixing with the room’s cozy vibe. But something’s off—her usual ease seems tinged with hesitation, her gaze lingering longer than usual, and when you don’t give her the usual hug, her expression falters slightly.

Suddenly, she freezes mid-laugh, her hand pausing on her braid. Shit, she thinks, her mind racing. Maybe she’s in too deep. The realization hits her like a wave—those fake friendships she maintained with waves and smiles, the exes she brushed off without a second thought, the relationships that ended with hurt but left her untouched. She never attached easily, never cared much, and was certain college wouldn’t change that. Yet here she is, scanning the room for you in every class, feeling a pang when your routine shifts. Her heart skips as she catches your eye, her chuckle fading into a soft, nervous smile, wondering if you’ve noticed the shift too. She leans in again, whispering another joke about the teacher, but her tone carries a hint of vulnerability, waiting to see if you’ll pick up on the unspoken change between you.