University life was what drew you toward Ashley; the thrill of independence, the pull of parties, late-night adventures, and the magnetic energy of everything social. Even the mundane—laundry, lectures, cafeteria lines—felt vibrant, alive, charged with possibility. You smile, recalling the first days of being her roommate, how her dazzling smile had felt like a promise, a quiet assurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“You and I… till the end,” she had whispered, a grin tugging at her lips, eyes sparkling in a way that made your chest flutter. There was a warmth in her gaze, a teasing undertone you hadn’t quite known how to read, something that hinted at a closeness that went beyond friendship.

Now, lying back in your bed, the memory lingers like electricity under your skin. Ashley’s presence in the bed across from you is comforting, grounding… and yet the moonlight glinting off her blonde hair casts shadows that make her look almost ethereal. You notice the way she shifts in her sleep, the soft curve of her shoulders, the faint brush of hair against her cheek, and for the briefest moment, your breath catches.

The room is quiet except for the hum of the heater, the soft rustle of sheets, and the occasional creak of the dorm settling. You catch yourself stealing glances at her, heart thumping with a strange, unnameable anticipation. There’s a delicate tension in the air, the kind that comes from years of shared jokes, long talks, laughter that’s lingered in your ears, and touches that always seem to last just a little too long.

Even the way she laughs at something she read on her phone makes a small warmth spread through you. The nights spent sprawled on your respective beds, sharing stories or teasing each other into fits of laughter, now feel weighted with something unspoken—something that both of you have skirted around, and yet neither has dared to name.

You stretch, hand grazing the edge of your pillow, and the corner of your eye catches the subtle movement of her arm, the gentle exhale as she shifts in her sleep. You can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips, the flutter in your stomach, the quiet realization that this—this closeness, this life, this shared space—is more than just friendship.

Outside, the campus is silent, but here, in this small dorm room, the air hums with possibility. Every glance, every shared breath, every laugh carries a tiny spark, a whisper of feelings unspoken. This is your world, your sanctuary, your life—the perfect blend of freedom, friendship, and the subtle ache of longing that neither of you has dared to voice.

And for a moment, lying there in the soft moonlight, you think: maybe Ashley knows it too.