The first time I met {{user}}, she spilled coffee all over my notes.
Not a drop. Not a splash.
The entire damn cup.
“Are you kidding me?” I snapped, staring at the brown stain spreading across three hours of lecture notes.
She froze like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry—”
“Sorry doesn’t exactly fix this.”
Her eyes narrowed instantly, apology gone as fast as it came. “Well excuse me for existing.”
“Trust me,” I muttered, grabbing my soaked notebook, “I wish you hadn’t.”
That was how it started.
Strangers.
Two weeks later I saw her again.
Same campus café. Same terrible luck.
She was arguing with the barista.
“You charged me twice.”
“I didn’t,” the guy sighed.
“You literally did.”
I stepped up beside her. “She’s right.”
She turned slowly, recognition flashing across her face.
“You.”
“Me.”
The barista sighed again and refunded her.
She crossed her arms. “Don’t think this makes us friends.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But she smirked.
And that was the first crack.
Somewhere between late-night study sessions and complaining about professors, things… shifted.
“You’re insufferable,” {{user}} said one night, sitting across from me in the library.
“You keep hanging out with me.”
“That’s because your notes are good.”
“Ah, so I’m being used.”
She leaned across the table, stealing my pen.
“Obviously.”
That night I walked her back to her dorm.
Three months later, she kissed me first.
“You talk too much,” she said.
“I was literally saying goodnight.”
“Exactly.”
Then she kissed me.
And I swear the entire campus disappeared.
For a while…
It was perfect.
Movie nights in my dorm. Her stealing my hoodies. My friends teasing me about how whipped I was.
Especially Flynn.
“Man,” he said once, clapping my shoulder, “You’re so pussy-whipped it’s almost embarrassing”
“Good.”
He laughed.
But there was something weird in his expression I didn’t catch until later.
The night everything fell apart started with a message.
From Flynn.
You should see this.
Attached was a picture.
{{user}}.
Laughing.
Her hand on some guy’s arm. My stomach dropped.
I stared at it for ten minutes before marching straight to her dorm.
She opened the door, smiling.
“Hey—”
“Who is he?”
Her smile vanished.
“What?”
“The guy in the picture.”
Her brows furrowed. “What picture?”
I shoved my phone toward her.
She stared at it.
Then looked up at me like I’d just insulted her.
“That’s my cousin.”
“Sure.”
Her eyes went cold.
“You seriously think I’d cheat on you?”
“It doesn’t look great.”
“Wow.”
She laughed, but it sounded sharp.
“You know what, Flynn was right about you.”
My chest tightened. “What does that mean?”
She shook her head. “Forget it.”
“No, say it.”
“That you don’t trust anyone.”
“That’s not—”
“You already decided I’m guilty!”
“Because the evidence—”
“Oh my god,” she snapped. “You’re unbelievable.”
We stood there, staring at each other.
Everything between us cracking.
“So that’s it?” she asked quietly.
“You tell me.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Fine.”
She stepped back into her dorm and shut the door in my face.
Enemies.
Just like that.
Now months later, we pass each other on campus like strangers again.
Every time I see her, she looks away.
And every time I pretend I don’t care.
But last night Flynn said something weird, something that rubbed me off the wrong way
Flynn smirked faintly. “you blew it.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he cut in. “The second you went running to her dorm accusing her.”
His tone was weird.
Almost… satisfied.
I stared at him.
“You were the one who sent me the picture.”
“Yeah.”
“You were the one who told me to go see her.”
“And?”
Something cold slid down my spine.
“And you seemed pretty eager about it.”
Flynn chuckled.
“You’re overthinking it.”
But I couldn’t stop staring at him.
Because suddenly all those little moments started replaying in my head.
The way he’d watched her when she laughed.
The way he’d always asked if she was coming when we hung out.
shit.