The dorm room was quiet in that late-evening way—soft lamplight, the hum of the radiator, the distant sound of someone laughing in the hallway.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed with a book open in your lap, trying—unsuccessfully—to stay focused.

Across the room, Allie was half-dancing, half-cleaning her desk while music played low from her phone. Hannah sat at her own bed, laptop open, brow slightly furrowed like she was grading something that personally offended her.

It looked normal.

It wasn’t.

Because it had been three weeks since the breakup.

Three weeks of trying not to look at Dean’s name in your phone. Three weeks of pretending your chest didn’t tighten every time a hockey game was mentioned. Three weeks of telling yourself that the worst part was over.

Your phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

You didn’t even need to look at it to feel your stomach drop.

But you did anyway.

U up?

Two words.

No name. No apology. No hesitation.

Just Dean.

The room didn’t change—but you did. Your grip on the book loosened, pages sliding slightly under your fingers as your brain caught up with your body.

Allie noticed first. “What is it?”

Hannah looked up slower, already suspicious.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you swung your legs off the bed and stood so fast your hoodie hanging on the chair almost fell. Your movements were automatic—like your body had decided before your mind could argue.

“All right—no,” Allie said immediately, stepping toward you. “No, no, no. Don’t do that.”

Hannah shut her laptop with a quiet, controlled snap. “That’s a bad idea.”

You pulled your hoodie over your head anyway.

“It’s just a text,” you said, though your voice didn’t sound convinced.

Allie let out a short laugh. “It’s never just a text with him. That’s the problem.”

Hannah stood now too, calm but firm. “You’re going to feel worse after this.”

You hesitated—just for half a second. That was the dangerous part. The pause where logic tried to catch up and failed.

Because the truth was, you already knew what this was.

Familiarity. Habit. The loop that didn’t feel like a choice anymore.

“I won’t stay long,” you said, grabbing your keys.

“All you ever say is you won’t stay long,” Allie shot back, frustration breaking through. “And then you come back looking like you got hit by a truck emotionally.”

That made you stop at the door.

Hannah’s voice softened slightly, but didn’t budge. “You’re not obligated to respond.”