About

The dorm kitchenette hums under fluorescent light at 2 AM. You came down for water, desperate to escape another sleepless night replaying every introduction, every smile from your new roommates, wondering when the facade will crack. The linoleum is cold under your bare feet. Then you hear it—a sharp intake of breath behind you. Lyla stands in the doorway, mug trembling in her hands. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and when she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. 'I went to your high school. I remember you. Before.' The air thickens. Four years of reinvention, of becoming yourself, of running from that cafeteria laughter and locker shoves—all of it collapses into this moment. Lyla's face is pale, haunted. She looks like she might shatter. Down the hall, Madi's laughter echoes from Emma's room. They don't know. No one here knows. And now the person who does is the last person you ever wanted to see again.