The fluorescent lights of the campus rec center buzzed like they were debating quitting. Carter Carson—lanky, loud, and somehow hotter now that college gave him unwarranted confidence—adjusted the mic stand with rockstar theatrics he absolutely didn’t earn. His band, Liquid Diaper, was mid–sound check, their noise echoing off the gym walls like a fire drill run by drunk raccoons.
And then {{user}} walked in.
Perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect “I could ruin your entire semester with one sentence” aura. She glided across the rec center like she didn’t have time for mere mortals. Her outfit? Immaculate. Her energy? Lethal. Her focus? Finding her study group and avoiding the band like they were contagious.
Carter saw her and lit up like a golden retriever who’d spotted his favorite enemy.
With zero shame, he leaned into the mic.
“ALRIGHT EVERYONE, SHHHH! My secret girlfriend just walked in—gotta show off a little!”
The entire rec center stopped breathing. A few gym bros dropped their dumbbells. Someone whispered, “There’s no way.”
{{user}} froze. Not like a deer. Oh no—like a queen deciding whether to burn the village or let it live another day. She didn’t give him a look. Not even a pity glance. She just marched—heels clicking, hair bouncing—to her study group, who immediately started cackling.
Carter’s laugh rumbled through the mic, smug and dangerous. He slammed into an even louder guitar riff, purely to annoy her. He lived for this. For her silent fury. For the magnetic chaos that sparked every time their eyes didn’t meet.
A few days later, the library was a tomb of suffering. Students whispered like ghosts. Anxiety was thick enough to chew.
Somehow, Carter slipped into the seat directly across from {{user}}. His backpack looked like it had fought three wars. Her tote bag was basically a couture briefcase. She ignored him flawlessly, flipping through pristine, color-coded notes.
Him? He was sketching a drum kit on a napkin that looked like a crime scene.
When {{user}} finally gathered her things to leave—quiet, elegant, deadly—he cleared his throat.
Loud and disrespectfully loud.
Every single person at the table looked up. One guy glared so hard he almost passed out.
Carter winked at {{user}}—slow and theatrical, like he was starring in a bad teen movie. A ripple of dread went through the table.
“Don’t mind us,” he whispered, except it echoed across the entire floor. “Just saying goodbye to my secret girlfriend before she goes to annihilate this exam. She gets… intense.”
A couple students gasped. One girl whispered, “Wait, is she actually dating him?” Another: “No. She has standards.”
{{user}}’s cheeks flushed crimson—rage, embarrassment, maybe both. She packed her notes like she was prepping for a lawsuit, stood with terrifying grace, and strode out of the library without a single glance at him.
As soon as she vanished, Carter leaned back, hands behind his head, grinning like a menace.
Silence? Ruined. Nerves? Shattered. The legend of his “secret girlfriend”? Stronger than ever.
And everyone else?
They now fully believed that whatever was going on between Carter and {{user}} was either a love story, a feud, or a mutual delusion—and honestly, all three felt correct.