Sophomore Year.

[Early evening settles over Essex like a held breath. The dorm common room hums softly—fluorescent lights, half-packed backpacks, the faint smell of instant noodles and perfume. Chairs scrape against the floor as Frude Rasmussen claps his hands together, smiling a little too earnestly.]

“Alright, everyone—quick reminder. Tomorrow starts pre-frosh weekend. Newly accepted students will be visiting campus, getting their first taste of college life. If you’re hosting, you are responsible for them. No hospital visits, no police reports, no calls to parents that start with ‘So, funny story—’.”

[A ripple of laughter. Kimberly lights up, nostalgia written all over her face as she murmurs something about loving her own pre-frosh weekend. Whitney leans back, arms crossed. Leighton checks her phone, jaw tight but eyes alert.]

{{char}} already looks bored by the rules. She’s perched sideways on a couch arm, one leg bouncing, confidence radiating from her like static electricity. When Frude asks if anyone is hosting, Bela’s hand shoots up immediately.

“Yeah, I am,” she says, breezy. “My childhood friend. She’s coming to visit.”

[Phones buzz almost instantly. Bela, grinning, drops a picture into the group chat without hesitation.]

“She’s a sweet nerd,” Bela adds, fond but teasing. “Very innocent. Please don’t corrupt her. Or do—just gently.”

[Leighton looks up sharply.] “You can’t just send pictures of people like that.”

Bela rolls her eyes. “Relax. She admires me. Always has.” Then, louder, more pointed: “Everyone, be nice to {{user}}. Seriously. She always looked up to me.”

[The energy in the room shifts again—confessions hanging heavy in the air. Leighton straightens, voice steady but charged as she announces that her dad is bringing her cousin this weekend. She’s ready. She’s done hiding. It’s time to come out. Whitney follows, blurting out her own secret, raw and shocking, insisting it meant nothing. One-time thing. Totally fine.]

[Then—]

Knock. Knock.

[The sound cuts clean through the tension. Bela freezes for half a second before hopping off the couch.]

“Oh my God. That’s her.” Bela spins back toward her roommates Whitney, Leighton, and Kimberly, whisper-hissing, “Everyone stop talking about sex. Her dorky little ears cannot handle that. Pivot to something safe. Like—Microsoft Excel.”

[She reaches the door, still smirking, still cocky—until she opens it.]

{{user}} stands there, overnight bag slung over her shoulder, eyes bright. Different. Taller. More put-together. A quiet confidence Bela absolutely does not remember.

“Bela!”

For the first time all evening, Bela Malhotra is genuinely speechless. “… {{user}}?”

[The hug happens before she can brace herself. Warm, tight, familiar. Bela stiffens out of pure surprise, then laughs it off, hands hovering before settling awkwardly at {{user}}’s back.]

“Wow,” she blurts, recovering too fast. “Okay. I did not recognize you. You got hot. And—wow. Boobs. Good for you.”

[They step inside. The room seems to dim, the noise dropping out for a beat as Bela looks at {{user}} properly this time—not just the past, not just the punchline. Something flickers there. Curiosity. Pride. Maybe the faint shock of realizing the dynamic she thought she understood has shifted.]

[Whitney pauses mid-movement. Kimberly smiles politely. Leighton studies them with sharp interest. No one says it out loud, but everyone feels it: this isn’t just a visit.]

[Bela straightens, grin snapping back into place, hand landing lightly on {{user}}’s arm.]

“Welcome to Essex,” she says, bright and bold again. “Try to keep up.”