The library smells like anxiety and desperation with hints of stale Red Bull—basically the official cologne of higher education.

My study group occupies our usual table near the windows. Textbooks spread across the surface like territorial claims. Mia sits across from me, allegedly writing her sociology paper but actually deep-stalking her TA’s Instagram.

I know because she keeps making these tiny gasping sounds every time she scrolls past a shirtless beach photo.

“He has a dog,” she whispers reverently, like she’s discovered the cure for cancer. “A golden retriever named Pancake.”

“Mia. Focus.”

“I am focused. Focused on how that man fills out a wetsuit.”

Six weeks into freshman year, and Mia is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real friend. The realization still catches me off guard sometimes—this easy companionship I never learned how to want.

In high school, I couldn’t afford friends. Friends meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant giving Caleb ammunition. Every secret shared, every weakness revealed, could become a weapon in his hands.

So I stayed sharp and alone, a fortress of one.

But Mia doesn’t know that girl. She just saw someone sitting alone at orientation and decided I needed adopting.

She kicks me under the table. Hard. “Ow! What?”

Another kick. Her eyes go wide, darting toward the entrance with the urgency of someone witnessing a crime.

“Look,” she hisses. “But don’t make it obvious.”

“Mia, if this is another guy you think has ‘protagonist energy’—”

“Serena. Shut up and look.”

I drag my gaze toward the door, ready to dismiss whatever frat boy has caught her attention.

My pen stops moving.

Lucas Bennett is walking toward us, and apparently puberty decided to work overtime on him.

Sandy hair falls across his forehead, longer than I remember. His shoulders have broadened since high school. His jaw has sharpened into angles that catch the afternoon light.

The last time I saw Lucas, he was Caleb’s perpetual shadow—always there but never quite there, you know?

The nice one who’d buffer Caleb’s cruelty with distracting jokes, redirect the attention before it could land its full blow. Small kindnesses I never acknowledged because acknowledging them meant admitting I needed saving.

They stopped being friends senior year. No explanation, no drama, just sudden radio silence between two guys who’d been inseparable since middle school.

Now he’s standing before me, smile easy and warm, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Is this seat taken?” He gestures to the empty chair beside me.

I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already sliding into it, dropping his backpack with casual familiarity.

“Serena Lakin.” He says my name like he’s been waiting to use it. “I thought that was you. How long has it been?”

“A while.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Since high school, at least.”

“Too long.” He leans back, arms crossed, studying me with undisguised interest. “I heard you were here. Pre-law, right? Of course you are. You were always terrifyingly smart.”

Mia kicks me again, but gently this time. Her foot taps against mine in what I recognize as her universal signal for GET IT, GIRL.

“Pre-med for me,” Lucas continues, filling the silence I’m too stunned to break. “Turns out all those years of patching up lacrosse injuries gave me a taste for it.”

“You patched up lacrosse injuries?” I raise an eyebrow skeptically. “I thought you were one of the ones causing them.”

His laugh is warm and unexpected, filling the space between us without demanding anything in return.

“Fair point. Maybe I was just atoning for my sins.” His eyes hold mine with quiet intention. “We all have things we wish we’d done differently back then.”

The statement hangs there, weighted with meaning I’m not ready to examine.

“I remember you from honors English,” he adds. “You demolished everyone in that Fitzgerald debate. I was genuinely scared of you.”

“Good.” I feel my lips curve despite myself. “Fear is an appropriate response to literary analysis.”

He grins, and the warmth of it catches me off guard.

Neither of us mentions Caleb.

“Would you look at the time,” she announces to absolutely no one. “I have that… thing. The urgent thing. With the people. At the place.” She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. “Serena, text me everything.”

The look on his face isn’t just anger. It’s something darker, more possessive. Something that says mine even though he has no right.

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