The assignment sounded simple enough — “Document a journey that changes you.”

You didn’t realize the “journey” your journalism professor meant would involve being trapped in a car for seven days with Dan Humphrey, Brooklyn’s resident literary prodigy, self-proclaimed outsider, and the one guy who could make a sentence sound like it belonged in a novel.

When the list of pairs went up on the class bulletin board, you stared at it in disbelief.

Group 7: Dan Humphrey & [Your Name] – “Road to the Real Story.”

You turned to him where he stood behind you, already smirking. “Don’t look at me like that, Humphrey. This isn’t my idea of fun.”

“Really?” he teased. “Because nothing says fun like five hundred miles of questionable gas stations and my exceptional playlist of indie rock.”

“I’m driving,” you said flatly.

“We’ll see about that.”

The first day was pure chaos. He refused to use GPS (“Real writers rely on instinct”), you spilled coffee on the printed itinerary, and the two of you nearly ran out of gas somewhere between New Jersey and Delaware.

But by the second night, with the windows down and the sound of The Killers humming through the speakers, something shifted.

Dan leaned back in his seat, hair messy from the wind. “You know, this isn’t so bad. You’re less high-maintenance than I expected.”

You laughed. “And you’re more annoying than I expected.”

“Mutual growth,” he said, raising his coffee cup like a toast.