It all started the day the gates of Rosewood University creaked open — wide enough to let in a sea of dreams. Some students walked in with purpose, eyes gleaming, hearts set on a future they could already see. Others… wandered in with nothing but questions, hoping that somewhere between the lectures and late-night talks, they'd stumble into who they were meant to be.
And then — there was Dave.
He didn't just enter the campus; he arrived. Six feet, two inches of quiet confidence, with skin kissed by the sun and a halo of thick, perfect curls that crowned his head like he belonged on the cover of something important. His Afro? Iconic. His presence? Undeniable.
He didn't have to speak — his walk spoke. Smooth. Certain. Slow enough to make time jealous.
Eyes followed him. Conversations paused. Even the breeze seemed to trail behind him, caught in his gravity.
He was the kind of man women noticed — the confidence of a lion in his stride, the glint of charm always dancing in his eyes.
"Dave," he said smoothly, offering his hand to the striking Black woman before him. Her poise made the fluorescent dorm lights seem to flicker in reverence. "How are you doing? The name's Dave. Dave Brave — President of the Dorm Orientation Committee."
There was a playful gleam in his smile, as if every word he spoke had been rehearsed in the mirror of a hundred daydreams.
"In fact," he continued, "we're having our very first meeting tonight. Eight o'clock. My place."
She raised an eyebrow, regal and composed. "I won't be able to make it. Someone's coming to fix the vending machine."
"Vending machine?" Dave repeated, incredulous. "Why do you need to be there for that?"
She tilted her head slightly, the corners of her lips curving into something between amusement and authority. "They want the dorm director present."
And that's when it hit him — like a clap of thunder across a clear sky. The confident ladies' man had been shamelessly flirting with the dorm director herself.
His bravado shattered. "I—I meant that with complete respect, ma'am," he stammered, voice cracking like a freshman on open mic night.
"With complete respect," she echoed, her tone soft but edged with steel. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Naturally," Dave muttered, chuckling nervously. "Of course. I'm going."
He turned to make his escape, tail between his legs, but fate had one more twist waiting for him.
Just as he reached the door, she appeared. A petite, captivating African-American woman stepped into the dormitory, and the moment she did, time stilled. The hallway lights seemed to dim around her. Her eyes — deep, mysterious, starlit — met his, and suddenly the legendary Dave Brave forgot how to speak.
"H-hi," he stammered, heart racing. "My name is… Ben. No. Not Ben. It's something with a 'D'… Darryl? No… Dave!" He pointed at himself, triumphant. "Dave is my name. Dave."
She laughed, her voice as soft and musical as wind chimes on a summer breeze. "Hi Dave. I'm Daphne. Nice to meet you."
"Let me help you with your luggage," Dave said, regaining some of his charm. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't help a beautiful lady like you."
But just as he reached for her bag, a familiar voice rang out like an enchantment being broken.
"Out. Now."
The dorm director had returned — and she looked even less amused the second time.
"I'm going, Daphne!" Dave called over his shoulder as he was ushered out, waving dramatically like a banished prince. "It was my pleasure. I'll see you around!"
"What was that?" Daphne asked, blinking as the echo of Dave's voice faded down the hallway like a leftover spell.
The woman beside her let out a sigh — half amusement, half exasperation — before extending a hand.
"Oh, that's Dave," she said, shaking her head with a small smile. "He's going to make my job very difficult here in Rosewood." Her tone held the weariness of someone already bracing for chaos.
"I'm Stacy Helen," she added with a polite, composed air. "Dorm Director."
Daphne took her hand, intrigued. "Oh—hi! I'm Daphne. Nice to meet you."
Daphne," said a woman crisply, glancing down at her clipboard. "Room 30B. You'll be with… hmm. Jane Victor."
Daphne's chest fluttered with anticipation. "I can't wait to finally meet my roommate," she said, her smile bright.
"Thanks, Mrs. Helen."
The woman narrowed her eyes. "It's Stacy."
Daphne blushed. "Right. Thanks, Stacy." She let out a nervous laugh.
A melodic voice rang out behind her like a spell.
"Daaaaphne!"
Daphne turned and gasped. "Wendy."
Goddess, how she always tasted like trouble. Smooth skin the color of cream kissed by sunlight, hair slick and silver-blonde like it was poured from a bottle of enchanted milk, and a body built like sin — an hourglass you could get lost in, breasts high and proud beneath the whisper of her designer top, hips that didn't ask for attention but demanded it.
"Welcome back," Wendy cooed, leaning in to embrace her. Her perfume was dizzying — gardenias with a hint of danger.
"How was your summer?" she asked, then before Daphne could answer, added, "Ever spent one in Richmond?"
Daphne opened her mouth to reply, but Wendy kept talking, her voice wrapping around her like silk.
"We have so much to catch up on."
Daphne gently pulled back. "Wendy, can we talk later? I'm exhausted. I just want to meet my new roommate and settle in."
Wendy arched one perfect brow. "Oh… you haven't met her yet?"
She smiled—slow, sharp, and vaguely wicked.
"Well," she said, voice dropping like a secret, "I'd hate to ruin the surprise just yet…"
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Wendy… what's she like?"
Wendy let out a soft laugh, the kind that echoed like a bell in a dream. "Oh, no one really knows. But they say… she's an ex-convict."
Daphne blinked. "What?"
"Mmhmm. Not a girl, not really. A woman. Tried for murdering her husband—just to keep her child." Wendy's tone was dripping with theatrical thrill.
Daphne's voice was steady. "So?"
Wendy's lips curved into a smirk. "Oh, of course that doesn't make her a bad person." Her sarcasm glinted like a dagger in the air between them.
"Hi," Jane said, her voice steady and unreadable.
"Oh—hi. I'm Daphne," she replied quickly, eyes darting. A beat passed. "You must be the… um, the—criminal?" she blurted, then gasped. "Wait—no! I didn't mean it like that. You don't look like a criminal. Not that I know what one looks like. You don't even look like someone who's been to prison. I mean—uh—sorry."
Jane raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Daphne's nervous spiral. "Why don't we start over?" she said with a half-smile.
Daphne let out a breath of relief. "Yes. Please. That would be amazing."
They shook hands.
"I'm Jane."
"Hi, Jane. I'm Daphne." A pause. "So… what else have you heard about me?" Jane asked, her tone playful but tinged with caution.
Daphne gave an awkward laugh. "Just that you're not a criminal. I guess that counts as good PR?"
Jane leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Look, let's be real—for both our sakes. I'd rather we don't dance around the truth. I've made mistakes. Big ones. But I own them. So—what do you want to know?"
Daphne hesitated. "I think… I need time to process what I've already heard."
Jane nodded, calm. There was something about her—despite her past, she exuded an odd serenity. Like she'd weathered storms and learned how to walk through the rain.
"You know," Daphne added cautiously, "you're the first… um… criminal I've ever lived with."
Jane simply smiled. "There's a first time for everything."
Daphne was descending the stairs when a knock echoed from the front door. She strolled over, humming to herself, and opened it—only to immediately roll her eyes.
Dave.
"Come in?" she said, thick with sarcasm.
"Oh, I'd love to," he replied with a smirk, stepping inside.
As he closed the door, he moved toward her, his expression softening, uncertainty hiding behind flirtation. "Daphne…"
She folded her arms.
"I never believed in love at first sight," he began, voice quieter now, "but from the moment I met you… something clicked. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like… we're meant to be."
Daphne laughed—short, awkward. "That's… sweet?"
He handed her a folded letter. "When you read this," he said, voice low, "you'll understand."
Daphne raised a brow, opened the note, and read aloud:
"If your idea of paradise is two beautiful souls walking barefoot along the shore, waves crashing at their feet, hearts racing for each other's touch—then I can't wait to meet you there. That's the place I see when I see you."
She exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "Seriously?"
She handed the letter back, unimpressed, and walked out.
Dave followed, calling after her. "Okay, fine—but at least keep it! Read it when you're bored. And hey—call me! Extending his card Think of me!"
He winked before strutting off like he'd just delivered a winning monologue in a romantic drama.
The sun hung high, pouring gold over everything, drenching the world in heat and light.A gentle knock on the doom director's door.
"Who is it?" came Stacy's voice from inside.
"It's Daphne."
The door opened. Stacy gave her a curious look. "What brings you to my office, Daphne?"
"There's no easy way to say this…" Daphne began, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "But I need to change roommates."
Stacy raised a brow. "Uh-huh. After one day?"
"I don't know. Jane… she's different. I don't think she likes me. I can't hold a normal conversation with her without thinking about the fact that she's—well—been to prison."
Stacy leaned back in her chair, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. "Well, lucky for you… I already have someone in mind."
Daphne's eyes lit up. "Really? That's amazing! Who is it?"
"Wendy."
"…Wendy Gibson?" Daphne said, deflating.
Stacy gave a smug nod. "Mm-hmm."I know this isn't what you wanted," Stacy said with a sympathetic shrug, "but she's the only student left without a roommate. I'm sure there's a very good reason for that."
She chuckled as she handed over the paperwork.
Daphne forced a laugh, standing to leave. "Yeah. I'm starting to believe that."
The door creaked as Daphne stepped in. Jane was seated on her bed, casually flipping through a book—but her eyes lifted, sharp and knowing.
"You went to Stacy, didn't you?" Jane asked flatly. "Tried to get a new roommate."
Daphne froze. "What? No! I mean—okay, yeah, but… I changed my mind. You don't seem so bad after all."
Jane stood, her posture stiff. "Unbelievable."
"Jane, I—"
"You went behind my back without even talking to me?" Jane's voice rose, laced with hurt. "That was selfish. Rude. Sneaky, even. You know what? You're worse than I thought."
Daphne blinked, stunned. "Worse than you thought? Really? What exactly were you thinking?"
Jane stepped closer, eyes flaring. "That you were a spoiled little rich girl with more hair than sense. A walking drama. Someone impossible to live with."
Daphne scoffed. "Oh, is that right, Jane?"
The tension snapped. Jane grabbed her coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
By late afternoon, the sunlight had shifted—warmer, lower, more golden than before.Daphne stood in silence, arms crossed, lips trembling slightly. She stared at her half-unpacked suitcase. With a sigh, she made a decision.
"Fine," she muttered to herself. "Wendy it is."
She reached for her duffel, move out to Wendy's room. Un packing —when a knock rattled the door.
Knock-knock.
She opened it slowly.
Wendy stood there—glamorous, perfectly styled, a vision of luxury in designer labels and dramatic perfume.
"Hi!" Wendy. "Do you need help with those bags?
Daphne blinked as Wendy tossed her bags to her.
"I really wish you were with me earlier," Wendy continued breathlessly. "I went shopping alone—ugh, tragic. I was so confused about what to buy, so guess what? I bought everything!" She burst into a high-pitched, melodious laugh.
Daphne forced a tight smile. "Oh. Me too. I love impulse-buying twelve leather jackets."
Wendy didn't catch the sarcasm. "I knew we'd get along! I'm so excited we're roommates now! We can talk about boys all night—especially those hot football players." She winked dramatically.
Then her tone shifted—casual, but cutting.
"I can tell you're from money too. My father owns a multi-billion dollar company. What does your dad do again? A doctor, right?"
She smirked. "Adorable."
Daphne just stared.
This was going to be a very long semester.
The library was hushed, steeped in late afternoon light that filtered through tall windows in golden ribbons.The smell of old books, warm coffee, and polished wood filled the air. Daphne sat in the corner by the window, her laptop open but her attention far away. She had tried to drown out the noise of the day—Jane's words, Wendy's perfume, her own tangled emotions—but silence only amplified them.
Her fingers hovered over the keys.
"Hey—this seat taken?"
The voice was deep, smooth like velvet with a slow burn underneath. She looked up.
Liam.
He stood there, broad-shouldered, towering, his letterman jacket slung casually over one shoulder. His eyes were a shade of storm-gray, unreadable and striking. Soft, dark curls framed his face like he'd just stepped out of a movie.
"No," Daphne said quickly, blinking. "It's free."
"Thanks." He sat beside her with an effortless confidence that made her heart skip. Not the cocky kind. The quiet, dangerous kind.
"I've seen you around," he said after a beat. "You're Daphne, right?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"
He smirked, flashing dimples. "Depends on how much you like attention."
She tried not to smile—but failed. "And you are?"
"Liam Carter. Tight end for the Bulldogs. But don't hold that against me."
"Tight end? Is that a position or a pickup line?"
He let out a low laugh. "You tell me."
A pause. Their eyes locked, a silence charged with something electric—like the air before a summer storm.
"You always hang out in libraries?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Only when I need to clear my head." He leaned back, studying her. "You looked like you were running from something too."
Daphne hesitated. "Maybe I am."
"Want to talk about it?"
She glanced out the window. "Not yet."
"Fair enough," Liam said softly. "But whenever you do… I'm around."
He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Nice meeting you, Daphne."
Before she could reply, he was gone.
She stared at the empty chair beside her, heart pounding.
For the first time that day, her lips curled into a real smile.
The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind a trail of dusky gold that still clung to the edges of the sky. .The diner buzzed with quiet conversation, clinking silverware, and the soft hum of an old jukebox playing in the background. Fluorescent lights glowed warmly overhead. Daphne stepped inside, scanning the room, until she spotted Wendy perched at a table near the window, picking at a salad like it had personally offended her.
"Wendy," Daphne said, walking over. "Hi."
Wendy looked up, her lip-glossed smile appearing instantly. "Daphne! What a surprise."
Daphne sat down across from her. "I'm glad I ran into you. I think we need to talk."
Wendy blinked, still scrolling through her phone. "Sure, go on."
Daphne took a breath. "I've been thinking… and I believe the only way we're going to get along is if we're completely—completely honest with each other."
Wendy looked up, suddenly intrigued. "Oh, I couldn't agree more."
Daphne smiled—finally, some progress.
But Wendy's eyes drifted past Daphne's shoulder. "Shhhh… Daphne. Look. That table over there."
Daphne sighed. "Wendy, I'm trying to talk to you—"
"Gray sweatshirt. Back corner. He can't take his eyes off me."
Daphne glanced over casually. "Oh please, Wendy. I think he's looking at me."
Wendy flipped her hair. "You wish."
Suddenly, the guy in the gray sweatshirt stood and began walking toward them.
Wendy gasped. "He's coming over. Oh my god—my hair's a mess. I feel sticky. Do I look sticky?"
Daphne rolled her eyes. "You look… expensive. You'll survive."
Carson arrived at their table—tall, charming, with a crooked smile and casual confidence.
"Hi," he said, addressing them both. "I'm Carson. Carson Charles."
Wendy beamed. "Hi, Carson! I'm Wendy. Wendy Gibson." She angled herself toward him.
Carson smiled politely, then turned to Daphne. "And you are?"
Daphne looked surprised. "Daphne."
He smiled, eyes lingering on her. "That's a beautiful name."
"Thank you," she replied, cheeks tinged pink.
Carson extended a hand. "Daphne… would you like to dance?"
Daphne hesitated for a breath, then smiled. "I'd love to."
She stood, leaving Wendy blinking at the table, lips parted in disbelief.
A beat later, another figure slid into the seat across from her.
"Hi there," he said smoothly, pulling the chair out like he was stepping into a scene he owned. "Name's Dave. Dave Brave."
Wendy glanced at him, still distracted.
Dave placed a hand over his heart, dramatically. "To see a woman as stunning as you sitting alone—it hurts me. What cruel twist of fate brought you here without a partner?"
Wendy barely looked at him. Her eyes followed Carson and Daphne as they danced. "Oh, shut up," she said. "Let's dance."
Dave grinned wide. "I knew you couldn't resist me."
He offered a hand, and Wendy took it.
Daphne followed Carson onto the floor, her fingers slipping into his palm. His touch was warm, grounded. As he placed a hand gently on her waist, she felt the tension from earlier start to dissolve.
"I have to admit," Carson said, his deep voice just above a whisper, "I didn't come here expecting to meet someone like you."
Daphne raised an eyebrow playfully. "Someone like me?"
He smiled. "Beautiful. Smart. Not trying to impress anyone… just being real."
She blushed, looking down for a moment. "You don't even know me."
"I'd like to," he said sincerely.
They moved slowly, her head resting slightly closer to his shoulder than she'd meant it to. The world faded. All she could hear was the music and his steady breath.
The music was soft, golden—two hearts swaying in rhythm.
Daphne was wrapped in the warmth of Carson's embrace. His hand rested just below her shoulder blade, his eyes fixed on her like she was the only person in the room.
And then… trouble arrived.
"Carson!" came a bubbly voice wrapped in sugar and mischief.
Wendy, heels clicking and smile stretched wide, strutted toward them—still holding Dave's hand, dragging him behind her like forgotten luggage.
Daphne stiffened.
"Oh my gosh," Wendy cooed. "You dance so well, Carson! Don't you just love guys who are good on their feet?"
Carson blinked, a little amused. "Thanks, Wendy."
Dave leaned in behind her, whispering with a smirk, "Are we crashing their moment, or just desperate for attention?"
Wendy elbowed him without looking.
"I was just telling Dave," she went on, fluttering her lashes at Carson, "how it's such a shame I haven't gotten a chance to dance with you yet."
Daphne's eyebrow arched. "We were kind of in the middle of something."
Wendy gave her a saccharine smile. "Oh, I can see that. But I mean—it's just one dance, right?" She turned to Carson, eyes wide. "What do you say?"
Carson looked at Daphne, who was now giving him a very clear don't you dare look without saying a word.
Dave, now fully enjoying the show, stepped aside and crossed his arms. "Oh, this is better than Netflix."
"Wendy," Daphne said, her voice cool and sweet like chilled wine, "you do realize you're already dancing with someone, right?"
Wendy batted her lashes. "Oh… Dave? He's just keeping my hands warm."
"Ouch," Dave muttered, pretending to be stabbed in the heart. "Cold world."
Carson chuckled awkwardly. "Look, Wendy… I think I'll stick with Daphne for now."
Wendy's smile faltered. For a split second, her real expression flickered through—tight, stung, insecure.
"Oh," she said, trying to laugh it off. "Of course. I mean, you two are so cute. Really."
Dave leaned close to her ear. "Need a tissue, or should we finish our tragic waltz?"
Wendy shot him a glare. "You're enjoying this too much."
"You crash a party, you dance to their song," he whispered back, grinning.
Daphne turned back to Carson as the music shifted to another soft track. Their bodies pressed closer, eyes meeting again.
"You okay?" Carson asked gently.
Daphne smirked. "I'm fine. But remind me to never leave you alone in a room with her."
Daphne was still locked in Carson's arms, her heart finally calming, when she saw Wendy step back into the spotlight.
But this time… she wasn't smiling.
She was smirking.
Wendy had taken off her jacket, revealing a fitted, backless top that shimmered under the diner lights. Her lips were freshly glossed. Every step she took toward them was deliberate, hips swaying like she was walking a red carpet in slow motion.
Daphne stiffened.
Carson noticed. "You okay?"
"She's coming back," Daphne muttered.
Too late.
Wendy slipped in between them without asking, pressing a gentle hand to Carson's chest.
"Carson," she purred, "you said no before, but I just couldn't let the night end without one dance. Just one… please?"
She tilted her head, her voice soft and sultry. "It would mean so much to me."
Daphne was stunned. "Wendy—"
But Carson looked flustered. He scratched the back of his neck. "I mean… it's just a dance, right?"
Wendy touched his shoulder, leaning in close enough to whisper something—Daphne couldn't hear it—but it made Carson chuckle.
Daphne's heart dropped.
"Just one," Carson said, glancing at her with a shrug.
Wendy turned to Daphne with a triumphant, sugar-coated smile. "Thanks for sharing."
And just like that, Carson was gone—led away by the sway of Wendy's hips and her glossy, fake innocence.
Daphne stood there, jaw slightly clenched.
"Wow," said a voice beside her. "And I thought I was the dramatic one."
Dave.
He was still standing nearby, now holding two sodas—one of which he handed her without asking.
"Root beer," he said. "Your eyes screamed 'I need something fizzy before I punch someone.'"
Daphne took it. "Thanks."
They stood in silence for a beat, watching Wendy twirl herself into Carson's arms.
"She really can't help herself, can she?" Daphne muttered.
"Nope. Wendy Gibson sees something shiny, she takes it. Doesn't matter if it belongs to someone else."
Daphne glanced at Dave. "Does that include people?"
He shrugged. "Especially people."
"You want to get out of here?" Dave offered, suddenly serious. "Not as a rebound. Just… air. Quiet. No drama."
"Yeah," she said, finishing her drink. "Let's go."
And together, they walked out going their separate way —leaving the music, the jealousy, and the games behind.
The night pressed close.The door creaked open softly.
Daphne stepped inside, quiet as a whisper, clutching her phone and purse. Her eyes adjusted to the dim room, lit only by the faint moonlight slipping through the window blinds.
Wendy was already in bed—curled up in her pristine silk pajamas, one arm stretched over her satin pillow, sleeping like she didn't just completely sabotage Daphne's entire night.
Her perfect curls were still in place. Her lip gloss tube rested neatly on the nightstand. Not a single trace of guilt anywhere.
Daphne stood at the door for a moment… just watching her.
Her throat tightened.
She walked toward her own bed, trying to move quietly. She sat down, slowly untied her shoes.
Then glanced again at Wendy.
The events of the night came rushing back—Wendy's smug smile, the way she slid in between her and Carson, the way she said "Thanks for sharing" with zero shame.
Something cracked.
Daphne couldn't do this.
Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
She stood up, grabbed her duvet in one swift motion, rolled it tight, and hugged it like a shield. Then she reached for her pillow and a hoodie from the edge of her bed.
She took one last glance at Wendy—still sleeping, untouched, unbothered.
"Unbelievable," Daphne whispered under her breath.
Then she turned, opened the door, and slipped out.
Daphne, wrapped in her floral duvet, curled up awkwardly on the lumpy couch, trying to get comfortable. Her mascara was smudged, her hair in a messy bun, and the faint sound of someone's laughter echoed from down the hall. Not hers.
She sighed, flipping her pillow for the fifth time.
Then—
Footsteps.
Daphne sat up quickly.
Jane. Hoodie on, earbuds dangling around her neck, holding a cup of tea and a pack of Oreos.
Jane stopped mid-step when she saw her.
"…Okay," Jane said, raising an eyebrow. "Do I even ask?"
Daphne forced a smile. "Just needed a change of scenery."
Jane crossed her arms. "You dragged your entire duvet and pillow down here for a change of scenery?"
Daphne stayed quiet.
Jane tilted her head. "You and Wendy had a fight."
"No," Daphne replied too fast. "We're… totally fine."
Jane raised a brow higher. "Mm-hmm."
Daphne looked away.
Jane sighed, walked over, and sat on the arm of the couch.
"Look," she said casually, "Wendy once got two girls to break up with their boyfriend
and then dated both of them in secret. I know what a human tornado looks like."
Daphne let out a half-laugh, half-sob. "She's insane. She stole Carson right from under me like it was a game."
"And let me guess," Jane said, passing her an Oreo, "she called it 'just a dance'."
"Exactly!" Daphne said, grabbing the cookie. "And the worst part? She made me feel stupid for even reacting. Like… I was being dramatic."
Jane smirked. "To be fair, you are dramatic."
Daphne gave her a look. "You're literally the queen of brooding silences."
Jane chuckled, sipping her tea. "Touché."
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
Then Daphne's voice cracked slightly. "I… I don't want to sleep in there again."
Jane glanced at her sideways.
Daphne sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I know I was a brat when we first met. And selfish. And I shouldn't have gone behind your back to switch rooms. But Jane… please. I don't care if you think I'm spoiled or annoying. I can't sleep in that room. I miss your weird silence. Your black nail polish on everything. Your overly dramatic playlist. Even your sarcasm."
Jane looked at her, unreadable for a moment.
"Wow," Jane said flatly. "I didn't realize I meant so much to you."
Daphne laughed. "Okay, don't make me take it back."
Jane looked down at her tea, thoughtful. Then, softer:
"You know… I was scared you'd never see me as more than a criminal."
Daphne met her eyes. "I did at first. I'll admit it. But not anymore. You're smart. You're cool. You don't care what anyone thinks. And you're—surprisingly—really good at emotional support for someone who wears leather in 80-degree weather."
Jane smirked. "It's called style."
Daphne smiled. "So… is that a yes?"
Jane leaned back, pretending to think.
"Well…" she said slowly. "Only if you agree that Taylor Swift isn't music for 'sad basic girls.'"
Daphne gasped. "Never! That's a betrayal."
Jane grinned. "Then get ready to sleep on the floor."
They both burst out laughing.
Daphne, eyes shining with relief, stood up and hugged her pillow. "You're serious? I can come back?"
Jane nodded, then added playfully, "But no touching my snacks. Or talking past midnight. Or leaving your unicorn lotion on my desk again."
Daphne saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
They walked out of the parlor together, side by side
They both got to the room. Daphne dropped her duvet back onto her bed with a small sigh. The room felt different now—same furniture, same posters, but the tension had cracked open and something warmer was trickling in.
Jane tossed her hoodie onto a chair and flopped onto her bed. "God, it smells like Wendy's perfume in here."
"Right? Like vanilla death."
They both laughed—tired, but real.
Daphne curled up at the edge of her bed, legs tucked under her. "You know… tonight was a lot."
Jane looked over. "Understatement of the year."
Daphne hesitated. "Can I tell you something kinda personal?"
Jane sat up slightly. "Sure."
"There's this guy. Dave."
"Oh, Mr. Overconfident Charmer. The one who talks like he's in a cologne commercial?"
Daphne laughed. "That's the one. He's… unexpected. Funny. And weirdly sweet underneath all the swagger."
Jane raised a brow. "You like him?"
"I don't know," Daphne admitted. "Maybe. Then there's Liam—hot football player, curly hair, jawline from a Greek statue. We had this… moment. But I haven't seen him since."
Jane nodded, like she understood more than she let on.
"I feel stupid," Daphne said. "Like I'm just bouncing between daydreams. But tonight, with Dave, he actually saw me. Not the version I pretend to be."
Jane was quiet for a moment.
Then: "That's rare."
Daphne blinked. "What?"
Jane stared up at the ceiling. "Being seen. Most people only look for what they want to find. Or what they fear."
She paused.
"My boyfriend… ex-boyfriend, I guess," she said, voice lower now. "His name was Ezra. We were together before I got locked up."
Daphne's expression softened. "Jane…"
"It's fine," Jane said quickly, brushing it off, but not quite. "He was the one person who made me feel like I wasn't broken. Or dangerous. Or a disappointment."
She swallowed hard.
"But after everything happened—after court, after I got sentenced—he disappeared. No letter. No visits. Nothing."
Daphne whispered, "I'm so sorry."
"I don't blame him," Jane said, though her voice cracked. "I wouldn't want to be with me either. I scared him. I scared myself."
Daphne crossed the room without thinking and sat at the edge of Jane's bed. She didn't say anything. Just sat there.
After a long silence, Jane gave a shaky laugh. "God, I'm really telling you this? Two days ago you thought I was going to strangle you in your sleep."
"I was wrong," Daphne said quietly. "You're probably the most honest person I've met since I got here."
Jane smirked. "Probably?"
Daphne smiled. "Definitely."
They sat there in the dim room, the hum of the dorm's heating system filling the silence.
And for the first time, it felt like Room 30B wasn't just a place—it was becoming home.