The rain had started sometime in the middle of the night — just a light drizzle, barely tapping the dorm windows, but steady enough to pull the world into a hush.
I was sitting cross-legged on my bed in one of the oversized sweatshirts Maya had helped me pick out. It still felt strange, wearing something soft and fitted.
Maya sat across from me, her sketchpad open on her lap, pencil moving lazily across the page. She wasn’t drawing anything in particular — just looping shapes and half-finished flowers.
Music played softly from her little radio on the desk. Tori Amos, or someone like her. Breath and piano keys. It filled the silence like a lullaby for the parts of us still learning how to speak.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired,” I mumbled, leaning back against the wall. “And I’m not even doing anything.”
“You’ve been doing a lot, actually,” Maya said, not looking up. “Existing is exhausting when you’re not sure who you are.”
I gave a weak laugh. “Poetic.”
She shrugged one shoulder, eyes still on the page. “It’s true.”
There was a long pause — not awkward, just… full. My heart had started that weird fluttery thing again, and I could feel it in my throat.
I glanced at her — at the way the lamplight caught the curve of her cheek, the faint smudge of graphite on her knuckle. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, and she was humming, barely audible.
I didn’t mean to stare.
But I also didn’t look away.
Maya must’ve felt it, because her pencil stopped. She looked up slowly, meeting my eyes.
Her expression changed — softened.
“What?” she asked gently.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
She tilted her head. “Riley.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t have the words. Not yet. I was still trying to understand the shape of them inside me.
But I knew what I felt.
And I think she did, too.
Maya set the sketchpad aside. She crawled across the narrow space between our beds and sat beside me, close enough that her knee brushed mine.
“Can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, lifting her hand just slightly toward my face — not touching me yet, just hovering in that tantalizing space between need and consent. Her gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of vulnerability, desire, and an unspoken promise that made my heart race in my chest.
I nodded, feeling a rush of warmth flood my cheeks.
And then she leaned in. Slow. Deliberate. No words, just the weight of her body pulling mine in. Her lips brushed mine — soft at first, tentative — but it didn’t take long before that softness turned into something deeper. Something demanding. She kissed me like she was marking me, like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered in that moment.
I kissed her back with everything I had. Not to fix anything, but because I needed this — her.
Her hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer, her body pressing into mine like she wanted to erase any space between us. My chest was tight, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the fire she was lighting inside me.
I let her take the lead. Her lips trailed to my jaw, down my neck — every kiss a silent promise. And when her hand slid beneath my shirt, fingertips grazing skin, my breath caught. But I didn’t stop her. I wanted this. I needed this.
Her lips found my pulse, kissed it hard enough that I knew she could feel it racing beneath her mouth. Her touch was hot — moving with purpose now, hands sliding up, pushing me closer, harder, like she needed to see if I could burn with her.
She paused for just a second, like she was asking if I was all in. And when I nodded, she didn’t hesitate.
Her touch became bolder. Her kisses deeper, more demanding — each one making me forget where we were. Each touch pulled me further into her orbit, closer to the edge, closer to that point where nothing else existed but us. My fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, needing the heat, the connection, the skin against skin.
The world outside — everything that had been loud and sharp — vanished. All I could feel was the heat between us. The hunger. The need.
I didn’t care about anything else. Not the history, not the fear. Just her, and the way she made everything feel like it was on fire.
As we pulled away, I couldn’t help but grin. “So, what now?”
Maya chuckled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “How about breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Breakfast it is,” I replied.
We headed out of our dorm to the dining hall.
We stepped into the hallway, the lights above buzzing faintly. A couple of girls passed us, one of them giving me a quick smile — like I belonged there. Like I’d always belonged. It still felt strange, but not… bad.
Outside, the rain had finally stopped, leaving the pavement slick and shining. Everything smelled like wet leaves and campus coffee — oddly comforting. Maya walked beside me, her hands in her jacket pockets. Close, but not too close. Just enough.
The dining hall wasn’t far, but we took our time.
“I bet they still have waffles,” Maya said, glancing at the clock on the wall as we passed the student center. “And if not… we riot.”
I laughed — a real one this time. It bubbled out without effort.
“Can’t believe we did what we did and now we’re talking about waffles,” I said under my breath.
Maya bumped her shoulder gently against mine. “It’s called balance.”
And somehow, it was.
Everything was still confusing — my body, my future, even my feelings. They were all a mess.
****
We made it to the dining hall just as the breakfast line was thinning out. The clatter of trays, the smell of eggs and maple syrup, the low hum of early conversations — it was all there, familiar and noisy and warm.
And then I saw them.
Jess and Claire.
They were sitting at a round table near the far window, half-finished bowls of cereal between them. Claire was mid-sentence, animated like always, but her hands froze the moment her eyes found me.
Jess turned too, slower — like she was bracing herself.
I stopped walking.
Maya noticed right away. “You okay?”
“They’re here,” I said softly, not moving.
She looked, then gently placed a hand on my back. “We don’t have to—”
“No,” I said quickly. My voice felt too thin. “I don’t want to hide.”
Maya nodded once, and we started walking again — slowly, like we were approaching a wild animal that might bolt or bite.
Claire’s eyes stayed on me the whole time, unreadable. Jess looked down, then back up, clearly unsure what to do with her face.
When we reached the table, I opened my mouth — but nothing came out.
Claire was the first to speak. “Hey.”
Jess gave a small wave. “Hey.”
Maya smiled politely and slid into the chair next to Jess, leaving me the spot beside Claire. I sat down stiffly, trying not to fidget. My tray was still in my hands.
Nobody said anything for a second.
Claire finally cleared her throat. “You look… different.”
It wasn’t mean. It wasn’t kind either. Just honest.
I gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Jess shifted. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” I lied. I looked down at my tray. Waffles. Syrup in a little plastic cup. I poked at it with my fork.
Claire’s voice was quieter this time. “We’re still getting used to everything. It’s a lot.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“We just… wish you’d told us.”
I looked up then, meeting her eyes. “I didn’t know how. I didn’t even know what was happening to me.”
Jess bit her lip, looking guilty. “That’s fair.”
It was quiet again.
Then Maya broke the silence with a soft smile. “Waffles are good today.”
Jess snorted. “They always are on Fridays.”
And just like that, the tension started to thin. Not gone. But cracked, just a little — enough to let some light in.
Claire glanced sideways at me. “So, uh… are you sitting with us?”
I blinked, surprised by the question.
“I’d like that,” I said quietly.
Maya smiled and took a bite of her toast.
Jess nudged the syrup toward me. “Go for it before Claire hogs it all.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “I only hog the syrup when it’s the good kind.”
Maya grinned. “Fake maple forever.”
We all laughed — not loud, not quite together, but enough.
And for the first time in days, I let myself believe this might actually be okay.
Not perfect. Not simple. But real.
Ours.
And maybe even worth staying for.