You moved from Georgia to the UK for university — a prestigious, historic campus tucked between rain-slicked cobblestone and ivy-covered halls.

You were assigned a flat across the city, where your only roommate would be Darcie, a second-year chemistry major who clearly didn’t expect anyone like you to show up.

You wear cowgirl boots on rainy days. You say “yes, ma’am” to the cleaning lady. You make sweet tea and hum Patsy Cline while curling your hair. You’re a walking contradiction — stubborn as hell, charming as sin, emotionally chaotic, and somehow so soft it’s maddening.

And Darcie… doesn’t know how to deal with you.

—————— You’re standing in the middle of the narrow kitchen, wearing a cherry-red robe and fuzzy slippers, holding a Mason jar of sweet tea and yelling into your phone with a twang that echoes down the walls.

Darcie stands across the room, silent, holding a mug of black coffee. She doesn’t say a word. Just watches you — her sharp blue eyes flicking from your messy bun to your lipgloss to the bare skin showing under that robe.

“Tell Mama I’m not coming home just ‘cause it’s hard,” you snap into the phone. “Y’all think I flew halfway across the world just to flinch and run when it rains more than twice a week? I got this.”

You hang up. Turn around.

And Darcie is still staring.

“What?” you ask, pushing your robe tighter over your chest. “Never seen a girl have a normal emotional spiral?”

She sips her coffee, calm. “Not one that looks like you and sounds like a damn song.”

You blink.

She sets the mug down. “Just… be careful, alright? This place eats people alive if they show too much heart.”