Love and Deepspace Fraternity || New Orbits

by TheOrangeBleu

Summary:

At prestigious Linkon City University, Ophiel transfers in her junior year, stepping into the whirlwind of sorority life, academic pressure, and the unexpected pull of an old name from her past. Between late nights, new bonds, and the chaos of love tangled with fraternity rivalries, she learns that college isn’t just about survival—it’s about finding where, and with whom, she truly belongs.

Chapter 1: Constellations

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the tall brick building, its ivy-clad walls catching the late afternoon sun in a way that made the whole thing look like it had been plucked straight out of a brochure. A neat white sign marked it as Delta Chi Theta, letters painted bold and proud across the arching front steps.

Ophiel sat there for a moment, her hands still gripping the strap of her duffel bag, staring up at what was supposed to be home. Not forever, just for the next two years—enough time to finish her degree, enough time to stop feeling like she was running.

Linkon City University wasn’t where she’d imagined she’d end up. Her old campus was small, tucked away in the mountains, a place where she could spend long nights alone with her telescope and the cold air. But transferring had been necessary. LCU’s astronomy program was one of the best in the country, and if she wanted to chase the stars—literally—this was where she had to be.

Still, it was one thing to get accepted and another thing entirely to actually fit in. She was already behind on the whole “college experience” thing. Most juniors had their groups, their routines, their people. She was starting from scratch.

Joining a sorority hadn’t been in her original plan. She wasn’t exactly the sisterhood type. But after the acceptance packet came an invitation—“We’d love to meet you”—and she figured she’d give it a shot. Maybe belonging to a house like Delta Chi Theta would stop her from feeling like a ghost drifting through campus halls.

With a steadying breath, she pushed the door open and stepped out. Her boots hit the sidewalk, and she grabbed her suitcase from the trunk. The driver gave her a quick nod before pulling away, leaving her standing at the foot of the stairs with nothing but the buzz of cicadas and the faint music drifting from an open upstairs window.

She squared her shoulders. “Alright, Ophiel,” she muttered under her breath. “New orbit. Don’t fuck this one up.”

The front door swung open before she even reached for the handle. A girl with copper curls and a grin that could outshine the sun leaned out.

“You must be the transfer!” she chirped, jogging down the steps to grab the handle of Ophiel’s suitcase before she could protest. “I’m Tara. Criminology major. Resident chaos magnet.”

Ophiel blinked at her, caught off guard by the sheer energy radiating off this stranger. “Uh… Ophiel. But you can call me Ophie.”

Tara winked. “Ophie it is. Welcome to Delta Chi Theta. C’mon, everyone’s dying to meet you.”

Tara pulled her suitcase up the broad front steps with ease, motioning for Ophiel to follow. The heavy oak door swung open into a wide entryway that smelled faintly of lemon polish and old wood.

The house was old, but not run-down. The kind of old that carried stories in its walls. The hardwood floors gleamed beneath a threadbare Persian rug, and above, a grand chandelier threw warm light across high ceilings. A spiral staircase wound up to the second floor, its banister glossy from generations of hands.

“Don’t let the vintage charm fool you,” Tara said with a grin, noting Ophiel’s cautious glance upward. “Half the outlets don’t work, and the hot water cuts out if you run the dishwasher while someone’s showering. But hey—character.”

Ophiel let out a short laugh, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “Good to know. I’ll plan my showers accordingly.”

Tara grinned wider. “You’ll fit in fine.”

She tugged Ophiel down the hallway, pointing out rooms as they passed. The living room opened off to the right—plush mismatched couches in jewel tones, coffee tables scarred with rings from years of late-night study sessions and movie marathons. A corkboard on the wall was plastered with flyers: charity events, exam schedules, and scribbled notes in glitter pen. A whiteboard leaned against the mantle with a reminder in looping pink letters: “Mixer w/ ΔΨΚ – Friday, 8pm. Don’t be late, don’t be boring!”

Beyond that, the dining room stretched long and narrow, with an old oak table big enough for the whole house. The chairs didn’t match, but the center runner was embroidered with the sorority crest in deep blue and gold.

From somewhere in the kitchen came the clatter of pots and the sweet smell of something baking. Tara wrinkled her nose. “That’s Simone. She stress-bakes when her projects don’t cooperate. We all benefit.”

As if summoned, Simone herself appeared, balancing a tray of cookies still steaming from the oven. Her dark, loose curls were shoved up under a patterned bandana, a smear of flour streaked her cheek.

“New recruit?” she asked, handing Tara a cookie without missing a beat. Her brown eyes flicked over Ophiel, sharp but kind. “Ophiel, right? Astronomy?”

Ophie blinked, surprised. “Yeah. How did you—?”
Simone tapped the corkboard with the edge of her tray. “We’ve all read your bio. Comes with the territory. Welcome to Delta Chi Theta. Cookie?”

Ophiel took one, biting into it before she could think better of it. Warm chocolate, gooey center. Comfort in edible form. “Okay… this is a solid bribe.”

Simone smirked, already disappearing back toward the kitchen. “Good. You’ll need it.”
Tara just laughed, steering Ophiel toward the staircase. “C’mon. Bedrooms upstairs. You’re in with me.”

The second floor was a maze of creaky hallways and doors painted in slightly different shades of white. Posters lined the walls—bands, feminist slogans, abstract art. At the end of the hall, light spilled from an open door where two older girls were bent over textbooks.

“Yvonne, Jenna,” Tara called, knocking on the doorframe. “Come say hi.”

The first to look up was Yvonne. Tall, poised, with dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, she wore a white lab coat over leggings like she’d just walked out of the med building. Her smile was immediate, warm as sunlight. “The transfer! Finally. We’ve heard all about you.”

Next to her, Jenna closed her law textbook with careful precision. Her black hair was cut into a sharp bob, her blazer draped neatly over the chair back. Where Yvonne radiated warmth, Jenna gave off the steady confidence of someone who had already mapped out her entire future. Her eyes lingered on Ophiel a moment longer, measuring.

“Welcome to ΔΧΘ,” she said finally, her tone even. “We’re glad to have you.”

Ophiel shifted under the weight of her gaze, but managed a small smile. “Thanks. Glad to be here.”

Yvonne rolled her eyes fondly. “Don’t mind her. Jenna’s our fearless leader—she has to be skeptical. Lawyer-in-training.”

“And sorority president,” Jenna added smoothly, though the corners of her lips softened just slightly. “You’ll do fine here, Ophie. Just remember—this house is built on support, not competition.”

It struck Ophiel then how different this already felt from the clichés she’d half-dreaded. No fake smiles. No backhanded compliments. Just… a cautious welcome, layered with genuine warmth.
By the time Tara pulled her away again, Ophiel felt her chest loosen.

They passed two more doors. One was cracked open, revealing Camille, curled up on her bed with a thick botany textbook balanced in her lap. A miniature jungle framed her side of the room—succulents lined up neatly across the sill, hanging vines trailing down from macramé baskets, and a Venus flytrap perched proudly in the corner like a guardian. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, offering a shy little wave before ducking her head back into her reading.

“Camille’s a sophomore,” Tara supplied in a hushed tone as they moved on. “She’s into plants—obviously. Botany major, super sweet, keeps to herself. Her roommate’s Riley, but she’s probably down in the garage welding. That girl could live on sparks and metal if you let her.”

Ophiel raised a brow. “Garage?”

“Mm-hm. Riley claimed it as her workshop last year. Built half the props for our charity carnival from scratch.” Tara shot her a grin. “If anything around here breaks, she’s the one who fixes it. Honestly? She’s kind of our MVP.”

Ophiel let out a quiet laugh, picturing some grease-streaked welder stalking through this polished house of polished girls. Not what she’d expected from a sorority—but maybe that was the point.

Finally, Tara stopped at the last door on the hall and swung it open with a flourish.

“Ta-da. Home sweet home.”

The room was cozy, clearly lived in but not overwhelming. Two twin beds sat on opposite walls, divided by a wide window that spilled golden light across the hardwood floor. Tara’s side was already a colorful explosion—her comforter patterned with neon constellations, pillows stacked half-hazard in every shade imaginable. A corkboard above her desk was crammed with sticky notes, crime show posters, and a half-finished string of fairy lights. A laundry basket overflowed in the corner, but somehow the chaos felt warm, intentional.

The other half of the room was bare, waiting. Fresh sheets folded neatly on top of the second mattress. A clean desk, a dresser with polished knobs, a bulletin board hanging empty above it like an invitation.

“This’ll be yours,” Tara said, plopping Ophiel’s suitcase onto the vacant bed. “And before you ask—yes, I snore sometimes. No, I don’t steal blankets. And yes, I hog the shower, but only when I’m washing my hair. Consider yourself warned.”

Ophiel sat down slowly, her gaze sweeping over the space. It smelled faintly of vanilla and laundry detergent. The floor creaked with history under her boots. She ran a hand across the desk’s smooth surface, trying to imagine it piled with her notebooks, her laptop, the star maps she could never seem to travel without.

For the first time since arriving in Linkon City, she felt the tension in her chest begin to ease. This wasn’t the dorm room she’d left behind, sterile and temporary. It wasn’t the silent little corner of her old university library where she’d spent nights pretending she didn’t feel lonely.

This was hers.

Or at least, it could be.

“Thanks, Tara,” she said quietly.

Her roommate just grinned and threw herself backwards onto her own bed, sending a spray of pillows tumbling to the floor. “You’ll fit right in, Ophie. Trust me.”

Tara rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “Oh—before I forget.” She jabbed a finger toward the double closet against the wall. One side was already crammed with clothes in every possible shade of red and black, crime show hoodies stuffed into the top shelf. “That disaster is mine. The other side’s all yours. Don’t worry, it’s deeper than it looks.”

Ophiel glanced at the empty half, its sliding door pulled back to reveal hangers waiting in neat rows. “Thanks,” she said, though her gaze drifted down to her single duffel bag sitting by the bed.
Tara followed her eyes and frowned. “Wait. That’s it? Where’s all your stuff?”

Ophie lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “This is just the bare minimum for today. Tomorrow I’ll head back to Snowcrest and bring the rest of it over.”

The word hung in the air like a spark.

Tara sat bolt upright. “Snowcrest? You’re from Snowcrest?”

Ophiel blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden burst of energy. “…Yeah?”

Tara’s grin spread like wildfire. “That’s wild! I’ve read about it—ski capital, crazy weather, those mountain observatories. You actually lived there?”

“Born and raised,” Ophiel said, tugging at her sleeve, a little self-conscious under Tara’s wide-eyed fascination. “Small university there too, which is where I started out. But their astronomy program doesn’t exactly compare to LCU.”

Tara’s eyes practically sparkled. “God, that must’ve been amazing. Snowcrest always sounded like one of those places that looks fake in postcards. All pine forests and snow drifts and cozy cabins.”

Ophiel huffed a laugh. “It’s mostly frostbite and avalanche warnings, but… yeah. The mountains are beautiful. The stars too. On clear nights you could see forever.”

Tara flopped back against her pillows with a dreamy sigh. “Ugh, jealous. I’ve been stuck in Linkon City my whole life. The most exciting thing we get is when the mayor shuts down Main Street for parades.” She rolled her head to grin at Ophiel. “You’re officially the most interesting roommate I’ve ever had.”

“Great,” Ophiel muttered, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward despite herself.

Ophiel crouched by her duffel bag and started pulling out what little she had: a couple folded tees, a pair of jeans, a hoodie that smelled faintly of pine, and her battered star charts rolled carefully into a tube. She tucked them into the empty dresser drawers, lined her notebooks along the desk, and slid her boots into the closet that Tara had so generously ceded.

It didn’t take long. Ten minutes, maybe. Bare minimum meant exactly that.

As she worked, she listened to Tara chatter from her bed—about classes, about the house, about the endless quirks of the girls who lived here. Tara’s voice was animated, alive, punctuated with laughter and sharp little observations.

And Ophiel… she found herself strangely comforted by it.

Back at her old university, her dorm room had been quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that echoed. She’d never realized how much she’d missed simple noise: the creak of the floors overhead, someone’s music bleeding faintly through the walls, the sound of a roommate’s voice filling up the space.

She thought of Jenna’s cautious gaze, Yvonne’s warm smile, Simone’s flour-smudged cheek, Camille’s little forest of green. None of it had been what she expected. No cruel smirks, no whispered judgments. Just… people. Sisters, even, if she let herself believe it.

“Snowcrest must feel a million miles away now, huh?” Tara asked suddenly, propping herself up again.

Ophie tucked the last of her things into the closet and let the sliding door thump shut. “Yeah,” she admitted softly. “Feels like another lifetime already.”

Tara smiled at her—wide, unguarded. “Well, welcome to this one.”

Evening settled over the house, shadows stretching long through the windows as lamps flickered on one by one. The halls filled with the smell of garlic and spices, the clatter of pans, the rush of voices as the kitchen came alive.

It was tradition, Tara explained, almost every night: the girls cooked dinner together. With twenty members total, not all of them lived in the house, but the seven who did—Tara, Jenna, Yvonne, Simone, Camille, Riley, and now Ophie—made it a ritual. Whoever was free pitched in. Whoever wasn’t owed a night later.

By the time Ophiel followed Tara downstairs, the kitchen was a whirl of motion. Simone was at the stove, wielding a spatula like a weapon as she flipped vegetables in a sizzling pan. Yvonne leaned against the counter, chopping onions with frightening speed, her lab coat already ditched for sweats. Camille hovered at the sink, rinsing herbs with quiet precision.

The moment Riley clattered in from the garage door, soot streaked across her cheek and welding goggles still perched in her tangled hair, the room erupted.

“Finally!” Tara called, brandishing her knife like a judge’s gavel. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

“Last again,” Yvonne chimed in, her knife tapping rhythmically against the cutting board. “At this point we should start charging her late fees.”

Simone flipped her vegetables with a sharp flick of the wrist. “Forget fees, make her do dishes for the next week.”

Riley raised both hands, toolbox dangling from one, potatoes in the other. “Whoa, whoa—guilty as charged, but come on, I was welding! You want working stair rails or not?” Her grin was wide, playful, completely unbothered by the scolding.

“You’d better hurry and shower before we start the dishwasher,” Jenna said dryly, not even looking up from the mixing bowl she was measuring rice into. “You know the hot water won’t last.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going!” Riley started to back toward the hall, then froze mid-step as her eyes landed on Ophiel standing awkwardly by the counter, clutching a cutting board like a shield.

“Holy shit!” Riley blurted, face lighting up beneath the soot. “The new recruit!” She dropped the potatoes onto the counter with a thud, forgetting entirely about her toolbox. “Finally—we’ve been waiting for you! I’m Riley, resident grease monkey, official hazard, and apparently the delinquent of dinner duty.”

Ophiel blinked at the whirlwind of energy aimed at her, then managed a small laugh. “Ophie. Astronomy. And… no judgment on being late. I just got here.”

Riley’s grin only widened, a streak of soot cracking across her cheek as she leaned in conspiratorially. “Astronomy? Oh, hell yes. We’re gonna get along. I’ve been trying to convince these girls to let me weld a telescope stand on the roof.”

“Absolutely not,” Jenna cut in without missing a beat.

Riley backed toward the hall with exaggerated finger-guns, soot still smudged across her jaw. “I’ll be back in ten—don’t burn anything without me!”

“Five,” Jenna corrected crisply.

“Seven,” Riley bargained, then darted out before anyone could counter, her laughter echoing down the stairwell.

The moment she was gone, Ophiel felt every pair of eyes in the kitchen swivel toward her.

“Alright, newbie,” Tara said, shoving a pile of bell peppers into her hands, “welcome to initiation night. Chop.”

Before she could even get her bearings, Yvonne slid a mixing bowl toward her. “After that, we’ll need you to stir the dressing.”

“And don’t let Tara distract you with her stories,” Simone added over her shoulder as she shook the pan. “She always burns the first batch of garlic bread.”

“Hey!” Tara protested, her knife clattering against the cutting board. “That was one time.”

Camille giggled softly from the sink, passing Ophiel a bunch of fresh herbs, droplets of water running down her wrists. “Here. Tear these up and add them to the salad.”

In less than thirty seconds, Ophiel found herself juggling peppers, herbs, and a wooden spoon while four voices overlapped around her like a tidal wave.

“So what made you pick astronomy?” Yvonne asked, sliding the onions into Simone’s pan.

“Do you really know how to read star charts?” Simone cut in before Ophiel could answer, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Snowcrest has an observatory, right?” Tara added, leaning over the counter. “You’ve gotta tell us about it.”

“Do you cook?” Jenna asked, voice calm but pointed as she glanced up from the rice. “Because we rotate kitchen duty.”

Ophiel blinked between them, half a laugh bubbling out as she tried to keep up. “Uh—one at a time, please?”

Tara smirked. “Nope. This is what you signed up for.”

Despite the flurry, Ophiel found herself smiling. The kitchen was a mess of sizzling pans, clattering knives, and voices ricocheting off each other, but there was no malice in it. Just energy. Curiosity. A sisterhood pulling her into its orbit whether she was ready or not.

The kitchen was alive, humming like a beehive. Oil hissed in the pan where Simone worked, onions popping and caramelizing. The scent of garlic drifted thick and warm, clashing faintly with the citrusy tang of Camille’s herbs and the faint metallic bite of Riley’s toolbox left abandoned by the door.

Ophiel clutched the peppers like they were lifelines. Tara slid a cutting board toward her and pressed another knife into her hand.

“Okay,” Tara said, leaning close as though she were confiding a great secret. “Your first test of sisterhood. How do you chop?”

Ophiel blinked. “With… a knife?”

The entire kitchen erupted in laughter.

“She’s got jokes,” Yvonne said approvingly, tossing her chopped onions into the pan. “I like her already.”

“Seriously though,” Tara insisted, “fingers tucked, knuckles out. No accidents on day one or Jenna will revoke my roommate privileges.”

“I would,” Jenna said evenly without looking up from the rice cooker she was measuring into, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward in the faintest smile.

Ophiel sighed, resigned, and started slicing. The peppers gave way under her knife with soft, satisfying crunches. She wasn’t a master chef, but she’d chopped her way through enough lonely dinners at Snowcrest to hold her own.

“Okay, I’m impressed,” Tara said after a moment, peering at her neat pile. “She’s not a liability.”

“High praise,” Ophiel muttered.

“Alright, spill,” Simone called from the stove, glancing back with a wooden spoon in hand. “Why astronomy? Out of all the majors?”

The girls stilled for a second, even Jenna pausing in her stirring. Ophiel felt the weight of their curiosity settle on her shoulders.

She hesitated, knife stilling against the cutting board. “Because…” She looked up at the window, where the last streaks of sunset bled purple and gold. “Because the sky always made sense. Even when everything else didn’t. The stars have rules, patterns, cycles. They don’t lie to you. And when you’re under them, you realize just how small the rest of the world’s problems really are.”

The kitchen was quiet for a moment.

Then Tara clutched her chest dramatically. “Ugh, poetic. I love it.”

“Yeah, that was pretty badass,” Simone admitted, returning to her pan.

Camille smiled softly as she handed over another bunch of herbs. “That’s beautiful. Makes me want to sneak out and look at the stars tonight.”
Yvonne smirked. “You’ll regret that when you’ve got a lab at seven a.m.”

“Worth it,” Camille said firmly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jenna arched a brow. “Well. At least you’re consistent with our academic values.” It was said dryly, but the warmth in her tone made Ophiel’s stomach unclench.

The flurry of tasks resumed, the silence broken again by overlapping questions.

“So, Snowcrest,” Simone said, slicing carrots now. “Tell us everything. Did you actually live in, like, a ski lodge?”

“More like a normal house with terrible insulation,” Ophiel said.

“Do people really keep sled dogs up there?” Yvonne asked.

“Not unless they’re tourists trying to look authentic.”

“What about the observatory?” Simone pressed, eyes gleaming with the hunger of someone who lived for science. “Is it true you can see whole galaxies with the naked eye?”

“On clear nights, yeah,” Ophiel admitted, sliding the chopped peppers into Yvonne’s waiting bowl. “The air’s thin, and the city lights don’t reach that high. It’s… different. You feel like the stars are right there, like you could touch them.”

“Holy crap,” Tara whispered. “Forget criminology, I should’ve studied astronomy. That’s way cooler than catching criminals.”

“Don’t let your advisor hear you say that,” Jenna said dryly, though the smirk playing at her lips betrayed her amusement.

The sound of running water drifted faintly from upstairs—Riley, making good on her promise to shower quickly.

“Alright, Ophiel,” Yvonne said, tossing her knife into the sink with practiced ease, “question time isn’t over yet. What do you not do? We’ve got enough bakers, organizers, and grease monkeys in this house. What’s your role gonna be?”

Ophiel paused, wooden spoon in hand now as she stirred the dressing Camille passed her. The chaotic warmth of the kitchen pressed in on her, demanding an answer.

She smirked, just a little. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

The girls whooped, Tara banging her knife against the cutting board like a drumroll.

“Yep,” Simone said, eyes twinkling. “She’s one of us.”

The clatter of hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs, followed by the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. Riley burst back into the kitchen in record time, hair damp and curling around her temples, cheeks still flushed from the hot water. She wore a clean tee that read Metal Never Rusts in blocky letters, and the soot was gone, though the faint smell of welding still clung to her skin.

“Seven minutes!” she declared, triumphant.
“More like ten,” Jenna deadpanned without looking up.

“You still missed garlic bread prep,” Yvonne added, smirking as she tossed a towel at her.

Riley caught it easily, pressing it over her face with a groan. “Savages. I risk my life for this house, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Uh-huh,” Tara teased, bumping her with a hip as she passed by. “Now make yourself useful and grab the plates before Jenna writes you up.”

Riley rolled her eyes but obeyed, pulling stacks of mismatched ceramic dishes from the cabinets. Ophiel watched, trying not to laugh as Riley muttered theatrically about “ungrateful sisters” under her breath.

Soon the whole kitchen shifted into a different kind of motion—organized, practiced, almost ritualistic. Camille handed silverware to Ophiel, who followed Tara’s lead in setting places at the long oak table. Yvonne poured water into glasses while Riley stacked plates at each seat. Jenna checked the rice one final time, Simone pulled garlic bread from the oven, and Tara hummed tunelessly as she ferried steaming bowls to the center of the table.

It was chaos, but it was their chaos, and Ophiel could feel the camaraderie in every teasing shove, every shared laugh, every eye-roll that softened into a grin.

By the time they all sat down, the table was overflowing with food: sautéed vegetables, steaming rice, garlic bread, salad bright with Camille’s herbs. The chatter didn’t stop—it just shifted into overlapping conversation as they filled their plates.

“So,” Yvonne said around a forkful of rice, “Jenna, what’s on the docket for this week? You’ve got that president look on your face.”

Jenna smoothed her napkin into her lap before answering. “Two things. First, the welcome mixer with ΔΨΚ is Friday. Attendance is mandatory.”
“Yesss,” Tara drawled, raising her glass in mock toast. “The boys are back.”

“And second,” Jenna continued with a pointed look, “philanthropy sign-ups. We’re partnering with the engineering department’s robotics club this year, so be prepared for late nights in the lab.”

Simone perked up. “Finally! Something useful.”

Tara groaned. “Or something geeky.”

“Both,” Simone shot back.

The table rippled with laughter, everyone chiming in at once—until Yvonne leaned forward with a sly smile. “Speaking of ΔΨΚ, rumor is Caleb’s already planning some big stunt for the welcome week fair.”

Ophiel’s fork slipped in her hand, clattering against her plate. A cough tore out of her throat, sharp and sudden.

Tara blinked at her. “You okay?”

Ophiel grabbed her water glass, throat burning as she swallowed. “Yeah,” she rasped, wiping her mouth quickly. “Wrong pipe.”

But it wasn’t.

It was the name.

Caleb.

Her chest tightened. Images flickered unbidden in her mind—muddy sneakers pounding beside hers through Snowcrest’s pine trails, late-night stargazing on the roof of her parents’ house, whispered promises of “always” when they were too young to know what that meant.

They’d been inseparable once. Until they weren’t. Until life and distance and the slow creep of growing up pulled them apart.

And now he was here. At Linkon City University. In the very fraternity tied to this house.

Ophiel set her fork down carefully, willing her heartbeat to slow, even as the chatter around her blurred at the edges.

“Of course he’s planning something big,” Simone said, reaching for another slice of garlic bread. “He always does. Last year it was that light show over the quad. Nearly fried half the circuits on campus, but everyone’s still talking about it.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jenna muttered. “The dean nearly sanctioned ΔΨΚ for that stunt.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit, it was impressive,” Yvonne argued, grinning as she speared a carrot from the salad. “They had half the student body out on the lawn that night. That kind of pull doesn’t just happen.”

“Caleb’s got that kind of pull,” Tara said simply. “People listen when he talks. It’s annoying, honestly.”

Ophiel kept her eyes on her plate, pushing rice into neat lines with her fork. Her mind spun, memories flashing like distant stars: Caleb laughing as he dared her to climb the old pine outside her house. Caleb, bent over a notebook, tracing constellations while she whispered the names. Caleb, older now, maybe, sharper at the edges—but was it her Caleb they were talking about?

It can’t be him, she told herself firmly. Caleb was supposed to be back home, trudging through the same mountain streets, maybe taking over his father’s store like he always said he wouldn’t. He wasn’t supposed to be here, at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, president of a fraternity that was practically campus royalty.

And yet—what if he was?

She swallowed, throat dry, then forced herself to ask, casual as she could manage. “So… who exactly is Caleb?”

The chatter screeched to a halt. Six pairs of eyes turned to her in unison.

“You don’t know who Caleb is?” Tara asked, wide-eyed.

Ophiel shook her head, keeping her tone even. “Should I?”

Simone nearly dropped her fork. “Girl, he’s only the president of Delta Psi Kappa. The fraternity.”

“The fraternity,” Yvonne echoed, leaning back in her chair. “Like, the fraternity. They run half the events on campus, and Caleb’s basically their king.”

“He’s not a king,” Jenna corrected, though her mouth tugged in a reluctant smirk. “He’s just… good at what he does. Charismatic. Keeps the frat from imploding.”

“Translation: he’s everyone’s golden boy,” Riley added as she finally sat down, hair still damp from her shower. She stole a piece of bread off Simone’s plate and shrugged. “Smart, good-looking, too charming for his own good. You’ll see.”

Ophiel forced a small smile, nodding along as if she’d just been given helpful gossip instead of having her entire world tilted sideways.

Because whether it was coincidence or fate, there was no mistaking it now.

It’s him.

By the time the bowls were scraped clean and the last slice of garlic bread had vanished, the girls were leaning back in their chairs with groans of satisfaction.

“I swear,” Tara said, patting her stomach dramatically, “if I move too fast, I’ll explode.”

“Please do,” Riley shot back with a smirk. “Would save me from fighting you for shower time.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Tara teased, tossing her crumpled napkin in Riley’s direction.

Yvonne leaned her chin into her hand, eyelids fluttering shut. “I could sleep right here. Dinner coma. Someone wake me when it’s the weekend.”

“Not before clean-up,” Jenna reminded sharply, already stacking plates with neat precision.

A collective groan went around the table, but one by one, they pushed their chairs back and began gathering dishes. It was an old routine, and Ophiel felt herself swept into the current before she could hesitate.

The kitchen returned to motion—Yvonne ferrying glasses to the sink, Riley wrapping up leftovers, Tara collecting trash and humming off-key, Camille carefully storing herbs back into their little jars. Ophiel found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Simone at the sink, sleeves pushed up, warm water running over her hands as she rinsed a plate.

“Not bad for your first night,” Simone said quietly, passing her a fork. “You kept up.”

Ophiel gave a soft laugh, shaking droplets from her fingers before sliding the fork into the dishwasher rack. “Felt more like being swept up in a tornado.”

“Yeah, that’s us.” Simone smirked, eyes flicking to her as she handed over another dish. “Takes a bit to get used to, but… it’s a good tornado. You’ll see.”

Ophiel nodded, focusing on the stream of water catching the light. The clatter of conversation behind them—Tara teasing Riley again, Yvonne calling dibs on shower time—blurred into background noise.

“You handled yourself well at dinner, too,” Simone added after a beat. “Even when we bombarded you with a hundred questions.”

Ophiel huffed a laugh. “You don’t hold back, that’s for sure.”

“Better that way,” Simone said simply, rinsing another plate. “We want to know who we’re living with, who we’re trusting. And you…” She glanced sideways at Ophiel, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “You didn’t flinch. That says a lot.”

Ophiel swallowed, sliding the plate into the rack, unsure what to say to that. Compliments weren’t something she was used to. Not ones that felt like they meant something.

Simone gave her a faint smile, nudging her with an elbow. “You’ll fit in here, Ophie. Trust me.”

By the time the last dish clattered into the washer and Jenna clicked it shut with finality, the kitchen had fallen into a comfortable lull. The scent of garlic still lingered in the air, mingling with soap and steam, but the frenzy was gone. One by one, the girls drifted upstairs—Yvonne announcing first shower rights once the dishqasher was done, Riley loudly protesting, Simone countering with a coin flip that nobody actually saw land.

Ophiel followed Tara back down the hall toward their room, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. The house felt different now that the noise had dimmed; softer, almost intimate, floorboards creaking under tired feet.

Ophiel followed Tara back down the hall toward their room, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. The house felt different now that the noise had dimmed; softer, almost intimate, floorboards creaking under tired feet.

In their room, Tara collapsed onto her bed without ceremony, immediately surrounded by the neon blanket and a scattering of pillows. “Ugh, I’m officially useless,” she mumbled into the fabric.

Ophiel smiled faintly, moving toward the closet. She dug out her toiletries and padded down the hall to brush her teeth, dodging steam spilling out of the other bathroom where Yvonne and Riley were still arguing playfully through the door. By the time she slipped back into their room, Tara was sprawled flat on her back, phone in hand, already scrolling.

Ophiel changed quickly into an old Snowcrest hoodie and leggings, folding her clothes neatly onto the chair by her desk. She climbed into bed, the sheets cool against her skin, and lay staring at the blank bulletin board above her head. Empty. Waiting.

Across the room, Tara’s voice cut through the quiet. “So. Survived your first night with the madhouse. Still planning on going back to Snowcrest tomorrow for the rest of your stuff?”

“Yeah,” Ophiel said softly. “Just need to grab everything I couldn’t carry today.”

Tara hummed thoughtfully. “Good. Means you’re not running away.”

Ophiel blinked at her. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“Good,” Tara repeated, rolling onto her side to face her. Her grin was lopsided but warm. “’Cause I like you already, Ophie. Don’t disappear on me.”

Something in Ophiel’s chest eased at that. She only nodded. “I won’t.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The room filled with the faint glow of their phone screens, the soft rustle of sheets as they shifted into comfortable positions. Tara scrolled with her usual quick flicks of the thumb, snorting now and then at whatever she was reading.

Ophiel lay on her side, pulling her blanket up under her chin as she checked her notifications. A handful of unread messages blinked back at her: one from her mom reminding her to “eat something real, not just coffee”; another from her younger sister, a blurry picture of their cat sprawled belly-up on the couch. Ophiel smiled faintly at that one, typing out a quick reply, but the warmth in her chest ached all the same. Snowcrest felt both impossibly far away and too close to ignore.

She let the phone slip onto the pillow beside her, exhaling a long, quiet sigh. The hum of the dishwasher downstairs was the only sound in the silence that followed.

“…Hey, Tara?”

“Mm?” Tara murmured without looking up, eyes still on her screen.

“That fraternity you guys were talking about at dinner.” Ophiel hesitated, fingers twisting in the edge of her blanket. “Delta Psi Kappa, right? What’s their deal?”

That got Tara’s attention. She set her phone down on her chest and rolled her head to look across the room. Her eyes glittered faintly in the glow from the streetlamp outside. “Ah, so you caught the name-drop, huh?”

“Hard not to,” Ophiel muttered.

Tara smirked. “Well, let’s just say ΔΨΚ is kind of… a big deal here. They’ve got the brains, the parties, the connections. If you’re at LCU, you’ll cross paths with them whether you want to or not.”

She paused, then grinned wider. “And trust me—you’ll meet them soon enough.”

Ophiel didn’t answer right away, her stomach tightening at the thought. She only turned her face back toward the ceiling, watching faint shadows move across the plaster as if they might spell out answers she wasn’t ready to ask.

Tara’s words lingered in the air like smoke, curling into the silence that followed. She gave a soft hum, the kind that said she was already half tuned back into whatever glow her phone offered, her thumb idly flicking at the screen. Within minutes, her breaths grew slower, steadier, punctuated by the faint buzz of a muted notification and the occasional shift of her blankets as she drifted closer to sleep.

Ophiel, though, remained wide awake.
The room was quiet, only the streetlamp’s pale light bleeding through the curtains and laying soft shadows across the hardwood floor. The house around them settled into its nighttime rhythm—the distant hum of the dishwasher downstairs, the faint creak of pipes in the walls, muffled footsteps from Yvonne or Jenna crossing the hall. It was an old house, alive with the kind of sounds that reminded you you weren’t alone.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the blank bulletin board above her bed. Tomorrow, she thought, it would start to fill. Syllabi, deadlines, maybe the first flurry of flyers for sorority events. She could already picture herself pinning star charts above it too, the edges curling from overuse, a tiny piece of Snowcrest tucked into her new orbit.

Her mind wandered to the faces she’d met just hours ago.

Tara—loud, fearless, bursting with energy that felt impossible to keep up with but comforting all the same.

Jenna—sharp, controlled, her gaze like a spotlight that saw too much but didn’t judge without reason.

Yvonne—warm, magnetic, the kind of presence that pulled others in like gravity.

Simone—eclectic, practical, but curious in a way that reminded Ophiel of her own restless hunger for answers.

Camille—quiet, soft, carrying the serenity of the plants she tended with such care.

Riley—messy, unapologetic, all sparks and soot and laughter.

This was her house now. Her sisters. The thought was still strange, still new, but as she replayed the laughter around the dinner table, the teasing in the kitchen, Simone’s quiet reassurance at the sink—she felt the edges of belonging begin to take shape.

And then there was LCU itself. Linkon City University loomed in her mind like something vast and endless: the ivy-covered halls, the professors with impossible expectations, the late nights stretched over textbooks and glowing screens, the projects that would push her until her mind buzzed. She thought of exams stacked on exams, of running between classes with half-scribbled notes, of long nights lying awake tracing equations while the rest of the world slept.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t supposed to be. That was why she’d come.

But now there were layers she hadn’t expected—sorority dinners, philanthropy sign-ups, mixers and events that Jenna would certainly keep a tight schedule on. Not to mention the people she hadn’t met yet, the ΔΨΚ brothers whose names the girls spoke with such ease, as if everyone on campus knew them. Caleb’s name echoed loudest, reverberating against the walls of her memory until she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing it back.

It was too much to take in all at once. Too many new faces, new routines, new expectations pressing at her ribs.

And yet, under the weight of it all, Ophiel felt a quiet, stubborn resolve. She had chosen this orbit. She would find her rhythm. She would make it hers.

Her phone dimmed on the pillow beside her, the last message from her sister unread. She tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders, exhaling slow. Across the room, Tara’s phone slipped from her hand with a muted thump, her breathing deep and even now, lost to dreams.

The hush of the house settled heavier, wrapping Ophiel in its warmth. Her thoughts stretched and tangled—Snowcrest, stars, sisters, syllabi, Caleb—until exhaustion finally tugged her under.

And in the little room at the end of the hall, beneath the roof of Delta Chi Theta, Ophiel fell asleep to the hum of her new life waiting just beyond the horizon.

Notes:

Just a preface, I have never been to a University—let alone a college—a day in my life. So give me some grace if I mess some of this stuff up lol. Im learning and researching as I go. And obviously this is an AU, so some things might not align correctly with the original characters of Love and Deepspace. But I'm so excited for this story!

Chapter 2: The Space Between

The air in Snowcrest was different. Crisp, sharp, threaded with pine and mountain cold even though summer still clung to the calendar. Ophiel had forgotten how quiet it was here. No hum of traffic, no campus voices spilling from quads, just the whistle of wind through the peaks and the distant rush of the river cutting through town.

Her old bedroom sat half-disassembled around her, stacks of books and clothes piled high on the floor. The narrow bed was stripped down to its frame, and the corkboard above her desk hung bare where her star charts had once covered every inch. She folded another sweater into the open suitcase at her feet, pressing down hard to make room.

“You’re taking all of that?” her mother asked from the doorway, arms crossed but her tone softened by a faint smile.

Ophiel glanced up. “Well, yeah. I kind of need clothes, Mom.”

Her little sister, Evie, popped her head in beneath their mom’s arm, grinning mischievously. “No, she’s just trying to look cute for the frat boys.”

“Evie,” Ophiel groaned, heat rushing into her face as she zipped the suitcase harder than necessary.

Her mom shot the younger girl a look, though her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “Go help with the laundry if you’re going to make yourself useful.”

Evie sighed dramatically but disappeared down the hall, her giggles trailing behind her.

Left alone, her mom stepped further inside, picking up a loose astronomy textbook from the desk and flipping through it absently. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “Seeing you pack up for somewhere new again. Feels like we just dropped you off at your first university.”

Ophiel hesitated, resting her hands on the suitcase. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d be doing this twice either.”

Her mom’s eyes softened as she closed the book and set it back down. “But LCU is a good opportunity. You’re going to do incredible things there.” She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Ophiel’s cheek like she was still ten years old. “I just wish it wasn’t so far.”

“I’ll visit,” Ophiel promised quietly. “Snowcrest isn’t going anywhere.”

Her mom’s smile was tinged with melancholy. “Neither are we.”

They worked together in silence for a while—folding, stacking, tucking away pieces of her old life into suitcases and boxes. Every item felt heavier than it should have, not just with fabric or paper but with memory: the hoodie she’d worn on freezing nights at the observatory, the chipped mug from her favorite café, the blanket Evie had once stolen and spilled hot chocolate on.
By the time Evie reappeared lugging a basket of laundry, the room was nearly bare.

“Wow,” she said, setting it down with a grunt. “It doesn’t even look like your room anymore.”

“Guess that means I did it right,” Ophiel said, though her chest tightened at the emptiness of the walls.

Evie flopped back onto the bare mattress, staring up at the ceiling like she was the one moving away. “It’s gonna be so boring without you here. Who’s supposed to help me with my math homework now?”

“You mean who’s supposed to do your math homework,” Ophiel teased, sliding the last of her notebooks into her backpack.

Evie stuck her tongue out. “I know how to do my own homework, thank you.”

Their mom rolled her eyes as she smoothed out a folded sweater, tucking it neatly into the suitcase. “I’ll drive you back tomorrow,” she said casually, as if it were already decided. “There’s no way you’re hauling all this on your own.”

“You don’t have to,” Ophiel said quickly, though part of her felt relieved. “I can figure out a train or—”

“No,” her mom cut her off gently but firmly, closing the suitcase zipper with finality. “You’ve got too much. I’ll take you. It’ll give me peace of mind knowing you got there in one piece.”

“Also,” Evie added, springing upright, “it means I get to see the giant fancy university. And maybe some frat boys.”

“Evie,” Ophiel and her mom said at the same time.

“What?” Evie grinned innocently. “This just prepares me."

Their mom shook her head with a sigh, then looked back at Ophiel, her expression softening. “How was it, really? Your first night? You sounded… okay in your message, but I want to hear it from you.”

Ophiel paused, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Memories of the night before flitted through her mind—the chaotic kitchen, Simone’s quiet encouragement at the sink, Tara’s easy warmth, Jenna’s sharp gaze, Yvonne’s laughter, Riley bursting in covered in soot.

“It was… different,” she admitted at last. “Busy. Loud. Everyone’s got such strong personalities, but…” She trailed off, a small smile tugging at her lips. “They’re good. They’re not what I expected.”

Her mom’s brows arched. “Better or worse?”

“Better,” Ophiel said softly.

Evie gasped in mock offense. “You like them more than us already?”

“Obviously,” Ophiel deadpanned, tossing a rolled-up pair of socks at her sister.

Evie yelped, then launched herself off the bed to retaliate, chasing Ophiel around the room until their mom clapped her hands sharply. “Girls. This room is barely standing as it is—don’t make me rebuild the walls before she leaves.”

The sun was already beginning its slow descent when they pulled out of Snowcrest, Ophiel’s suitcases stacked neatly in the back of the car. The mountains shrank in the rearview mirror, their jagged silhouettes fading into mist as the winding road carried them toward the sprawl of Linkon City.

Evie was sprawled across the backseat with headphones looped around her neck, legs kicking lazily in the air as she scrolled on her phone. Ophiel sat in the passenger seat, her backpack tucked between her knees, chin propped in her hand as the familiar pine forests blurred past.

Her mom kept both hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “So,” she said after a long silence, her voice casual but carrying that unmistakable maternal weight, “how are you planning to balance it all?”

Ophiel blinked, turning her head. “Balance what?”
Her mom gave her a knowing look. “Classes. Sorority obligations. Social life. Sleep, if you plan on having any.”

Ophiel exhaled through her nose, sinking lower in her seat. “One thing at a time, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Mom—”

“No, listen.” Her mom’s tone softened, but she didn’t take her eyes off the road. “LCU isn’t Snowcrest University. The expectations are higher. Professors don’t care if you’re adjusting or if you’re overwhelmed. You can’t fall behind.” She paused, her fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. “You’ve worked too hard to get there, Ophiel. You don’t get to throw it away because you’re distracted.”

From the backseat, Evie groaned dramatically. “She’s not gonna throw it away, Mom. She’s a nerd. She’ll be fine.”

Ophiel smirked faintly, eyes still on the window. “Thanks, Evie.”

“I’m serious,” her mom continued, her voice gentle but insistent. “I know you. You’ll push yourself until you break if you’re not careful. So yes, chase the stars. Join the sorority. Make friends. Have fun. But don’t forget why you transferred. Don’t lose sight of that.”

The words settled heavy in the car, weaving between the hum of the tires on asphalt and the faint buzz of Evie’s music. Ophiel chewed on her lip, torn between the urge to argue and the truth in what her mom said.

“I won’t,” she murmured finally. “I know why I’m there.”

Her mom glanced at her briefly, the corner of her mouth softening into a small, proud smile. “Good. Then you’ll be just fine.”

From the backseat, Evie piped up again. “Still think she’s just trying to look cute for frat boys.”

“Evie!” Ophiel snapped, heat rushing to her cheeks.

The road stretched long and golden ahead of them, the last of the sun dipping low behind the mountains. Ophiel rested her forehead against the glass, watching the pine trees blur into endless streaks of green and shadow. Her mom hummed softly with the radio, some old song half-lost to static.

But Ophiel wasn’t listening. Her mind wouldn’t stop circling, chewing over fragments of conversation from the night before. Caleb’s planning something big. Caleb’s got that kind of pull. President of the fraternity. The name had slammed into her chest like a physical weight.
She’d told herself it couldn’t be him. That there were a hundred Calabs in the world, and this one just happened to share a name. But the longer she sat in the quiet, the harder it was to shove the thought away.

Her mom must have noticed her fidgeting, because she reached over and gave Ophiel’s wrist a quick squeeze before returning her hand to the wheel. “You’ve gone quiet,” she said gently. “Everything alright?”

Ophiel hesitated, staring out at the fading light. Her heart gave a nervous thump. Finally, the question slipped out before she could stop it.

“Do you… remember Caleb?”

Her mom blinked, the name pulling her eyes from the road for just a heartbeat. Then she nodded slowly. “Of course I do. You two were inseparable. Always running around town, getting into things you shouldn’t.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “I used to joke you were more his sister than Evie sometimes.”

At the mention of her name, Evie yanked her headphones off, eyes wide as she launched forward over the backseat. “Wait, what? Caleb? That Caleb? What about him? Did he text you? Oh my god—”

“Evie.” Ophiel shoved her sister’s face back with the flat of her hand, pushing her away as Evie cackled and tried to worm closer. “Mind your business.”

“Your business is my business,” Evie sang, tugging at her arm. “Spill it!”

“Stop!” Ophiel groaned, half-laughing despite herself as she shoved her sister back into her seat. When Evie finally relented, still grinning smugly, Ophiel leaned against the headrest and turned back to her mom.

“Do you… know what happened to him? After high school, I mean.” Her voice dropped, soft, careful, like the words themselves might splinter if she wasn’t gentle.

Her mom was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. The glow of the city skyline flickered faintly on the horizon, drawing closer. “Not really,” she admitted at last. “He went off to college, I think. His mom mentioned it once at the market. But after that…” She shook her head, her expression tinged with something between regret and nostalgia. “I don’t know. He just… disappeared from Snowcrest the way a lot of kids do.”

Ophiel nodded slowly. She turned back to the window, watching the trees thin as the highway widened toward the city.

By the time the car turned off the highway and into Linkon City, twilight had settled over the skyline. The streets glowed with streetlamps and neon signs, humming with the energy of students returning for the start of the year. Ophiel’s chest tightened as the neighborhoods shifted from glass-and-steel downtown towers into the quieter, older blocks near campus—the ones lined with historic houses, all ivy and wide porches.

Delta Chi Theta sat proudly at the corner of the street, its brick walls wrapped in green ivy that climbed up toward the roof like a living crown. The white-painted trim caught the light of the setting sun, glowing faintly gold.

“Whoa,” Evie breathed from the backseat, pressing her face against the window. “It looks like something out of a movie. Look at that grass! It’s so green. And the vines—oh my god, you live here?”

Ophiel fought a smile as the car pulled into the narrow drive. “Apparently.”

Her mom parked beneath the arching branches of an old oak tree, cutting the engine with a soft sigh. “Well,” she said, glancing at the stacked luggage in the back, “let’s get this circus unloaded.”

They climbed out, the evening air warm but breezy. Evie immediately darted toward the front lawn, running her fingers through the ivy that trailed down the porch columns. “It’s like a castle,” she whispered, eyes wide.

Ophiel popped the trunk, tugging out the first heavy suitcase. Her mom joined her, grabbing one of the cardboard boxes filled with astronomy books. Together they balanced the load between them, the faint sounds of laughter and music already drifting from inside the house.

The front door swung open just as Ophiel shut the trunk. Tara bounded out onto the porch, her expression lighting up like fireworks the second she spotted them.

“Ophie!” she called, rushing down the steps two at a time. “You came back! And—” Her gaze flicked to the car, to the unfamiliar faces hovering nearby. “You brought backup.”

Evie straightened immediately, grinning ear to ear. “I’m the backup. Little sister. Quality control.”

Tara laughed, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh, I like her already.”

Ophiel just shook her head, adjusting her grip on the suitcase. “Don’t encourage her.”

But Tara was already reaching for one of the boxes, all enthusiasm and energy. “Come on, let’s get this inside! The sooner you’re settled, the sooner you’re officially one of us.”

Before Ophiel could protest, Tara had already scooped a box of books into her arms and was hollering back toward the house.

“She’s here! The transfer’s back with her stuff!”
The effect was immediate. Within seconds, the porch filled with motion—Simone wiping her hands on a dish towel, Yvonne ducking out with her braids swinging, Riley jogging up from the garage with a wrench still tucked into her back pocket. Even Camille peeked out from behind the doorframe, curiosity bright in her eyes.

It was like the house had been waiting for her.

“Finally,” Simone grinned, reaching for another box before Ophiel’s mom could stop her. “I was starting to think you changed your mind.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Tara said confidently, bumping her shoulder against Ophiel’s.

Yvonne gave a warm smile to her mom, then crouched a little to meet Evie’s eager stare. “And who’s this?”

“I’m her sister,” Evie announced proudly, puffing up her chest. “And I approve of the house. It’s like a fairytale castle.”

Yvonne laughed. “Thank you. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Riley darted in to grab one of the heavier suitcases, muscles flexing as she swung it up onto her shoulder. “Damn, Ophie, what do you have in here? Rocks?”

“Astronomy textbooks,” Ophiel admitted sheepishly.

“Same thing,” Riley muttered, already hauling it toward the stairs.

Her mom started to protest—“Oh, you don’t have to—” but Jenna appeared in the doorway, arms folded, her expression sharp but not unkind.

“Of course we do,” Jenna said firmly. “She’s one of ours now. We look out for each other."

And just like that, the remaining bags disappeared into eager hands. The lawn, the trunk, the porch—all cleared in minutes as the girls ferried her things up the staircase with practiced ease.

Ophiel stood there for a moment, suitcase handle still clutched in her hand, watching her mom’s wide-eyed look of surprise and Evie’s grin that was practically splitting her face.

“You weren’t kidding,” her mom whispered, glancing at her. “This is… more than I expected.”

Ophiel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her lips quirking. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”

Tara swung back down the stairs, already tugging at Ophiel’s arm. “C’mon, you’re not standing out here like a guest. You live here now. Inside, newbie.”

The house felt alive as they climbed the staircase, voices bouncing off the old walls. Ophiel’s mom carried only a small bag now—every larger box already spirited away by eager hands—and Evie practically danced up the steps beside Yvonne, peppering her with questions about “what it’s like living in a castle.” Her things had already been hauled into her and Tara’s room, the suitcases stacked neatly against the wall, boxes piled beside the desk. It felt less like moving in and more like an orchestrated ambush of enthusiasm.

Tara threw herself onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. “Mission accomplished. I want it noted for the record that I carried the heaviest box.”

“You carried the lightest box,” Simone corrected, flopping onto the rug cross-legged and peering curiously at the stack of books poking from one of the boxes. “What even is all this? Oh—oh my god, are these star maps?”

Ophiel bent to pull the box closer. “Yeah. Some are printed, some are my own charts.”

Camille leaned over Simone’s shoulder, eyes shining as she traced a finger along one of the rolled papers. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“I like the telescope manual better,” Riley said, plopping down onto the desk chair and spinning in a lazy circle. “At least that one has instructions. Stars don’t come with instructions.”

“Neither do welders,” Ophiel muttered under her breath, earning a round of laughter.

Evie perched proudly on the rug, hugging a pillow to her chest like she’d already claimed the spot. “My sister’s a genius. She can find constellations no one’s even heard of.”

“Oh, she’s going to be insufferable, isn’t she?” Yvonne teased, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“Definitely,” Tara agreed, tossing a pillow at Evie, who cackled and hugged it tighter.

Jenna slipped in last, her presence filling the room with quiet authority even as she carried a small Tupperware container. She set it on the desk with a tap of her manicured nail. “Leftovers. You didn’t eat with us, so don’t let Tara convince you to starve.”

“Hey!” Tara protested, sitting up. “I was totally going to share.”

“What’d you make?” Ophiel asked, peeling back the lid.

“Stir fry,” Simone answered proudly. “I added chili flakes. Tara almost cried.”

“I did not cry,” Tara shot back. “My eyes were just… sweating.”

The room erupted in laughter again, voices overlapping, questions and teases bouncing from wall to wall.

Her mom sat on the edge of Tara’s bed, hands folded in her lap, watching it all unfold with a mixture of awe and relief. “You’ve certainly found yourself a lively group,” she said softly.

Ophiel felt her cheeks warm, her chest loosening at the sight of Evie sandwiched between Camille and Simone on the rug, grinning like she belonged there. She looked around at the chaos of it all—books spilling, pillows flying, laughter spilling out into the hallway—and realized she hadn’t felt this surrounded in a long time.

The laughter lingered for a while, spilling bright and unrestrained through the small room. Questions flew in every direction—about Snowcrest, about Ophiel’s star charts, about Evie’s school and how she managed to torment her sister on a daily basis. Tara cracked another joke about chili flakes, Riley swore she was going to weld Ophiel a “proper bookshelf” before the semester ended, and Yvonne kept insisting that Evie was “future sorority material.”

But like all storms, the energy eventually softened. The hum of voices slowed, laughter fading into little bursts here and there. Simone stood first, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. “Alright, I’m claiming kitchen duty tomorrow, so I need sleep before Jenna writes me up.”

Jenna arched a brow from the doorway. “Noted.”

Camille gathered herself whispering a quick goodnight as she padded out. Riley followed, muttering about a project she’d left half-finished in the garage, while Yvonne drifted after Simone with a yawn. Even Tara, reluctant as she was, finally hopped off the bed and trailed to the hall, promising Ophiel she’d “be back to bug her in exactly seven minutes.”

The room quieted. The air felt larger now, the echo of voices replaced with the steady thrum of the dishwasher below and the muffled hum of traffic outside.

Only Ophiel, her mom, and Evie remained.
Her mom sat gracefully at the edge of Ophiel’s bed, smoothing her palms over the blanket like she was memorizing the feel of it. Evie had sprawled herself across the pillows at the headboard, still grinning, but her earlier bravado had softened into something more thoughtful now that the audience was gone.

“You’ve got good people here,” her mom said softly, nodding toward the door where the last of the chatter had faded. “I was worried. Sororities have a reputation, you know. But… this feels different.”

“It is,” Ophiel admitted. “They’re not what I expected at all.”

Evie rolled onto her stomach, chin propped in her hands. “I like them. Especially your roomie—Tara? She’s fun. Way more fun than you.”

Ophiel tossed a pillow at her. “Thanks, brat.”

Evie muffled a laugh into the blanket, then peeked up again, her grin fading into something softer. “You’re really gonna be okay here, huh?”

The question caught Ophiel off guard. She blinked, searching her sister’s face. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I'll be fine, Evie”

Her mom smiled faintly, but her eyes shone in that way Ophiel recognized all too well—the same way they had when she’d left for Snowcrest University the first time. Pride and worry, tangled together.

“I’ll say it again,” her mom murmured, reaching for Ophiel’s hand. “Work hard. Keep your head clear. Don’t let yourself get pulled in a hundred directions. You’ve always been the kind of person who burns the candle at both ends.” She squeezed gently. “You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone but you. Remember that.”

Ophiel swallowed, her throat tight, but she nodded. “I will.”

“And,” Evie cut in quickly, her eyes wide with mock severity, “text me. Daily. Cat pictures, star pictures, sorority gossip—I don’t care.”

Ophiel smirked. “Daily? That’s ambitious.”

“Not ambitious—mandatory.” Evie poked her arm with a finger. “You’re not allowed to have a new life and forget about me.”

“I could never forget about you,” Ophiel said, softer than she meant to.

The three of them sat there for a moment, caught in a bubble of quiet—only the distant laughter from the hall and the creak of the old house grounding them in place.

Her mom checked her watch, the little sigh she let out telling Ophiel more than words could. “Alright,” she said gently. “We should hit the road. It’s a long drive back.”

Evie immediately sat up on Ophiel’s bed, eyes wide. “Already?”

“You knew we couldn’t stay,” her mom reminded, though her tone was tender.

Evie scrambled off the mattress and all but threw herself into Ophiel’s arms. “I hate this,” she muttered, voice muffled against her sister’s hoodie. “You should just stay in Snowcrest with me. Forget this whole ‘prestigious university’ thing.”

Ophiel’s throat tightened as she wrapped her arms around her, holding on fiercely. “I’ll still be here. It’s just an hour away. And you’re stuck with me spamming you star charts whether you like it or not.”

Evie gave a watery laugh, squeezing tighter. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ophiel said.

When Evie finally pulled back, her cheeks were pink, her eyes a little too shiny. Ophiel smoothed her hair down, tucking it gently behind her ear before turning toward her mom.

Her mom stood patiently, her smile soft and lined with the weight of every goodbye they’d ever had. Ophiel stepped forward and hugged her, burying her face briefly in the familiar warmth of her shoulder.

“Don’t forget what I said,” her mom whispered. “Work hard. But don’t forget to live, too.”

“I won’t,” Ophiel murmured. “I’ll make you proud.”

“You already do.” Her mom kissed her temple before pulling back.

For a moment, the three of them lingered in the small room—suitcases stacked, beds rumpled, the faint glow of the desk lamp softening the edges of everything. Then her mom drew Evie toward the door.

“We’ll let you settle,” she said, her voice steady.

Ophiel stood in the middle of the room, hugging her arms to her chest as they stepped out into the hall. She could hear their voices mingling with the others downstairs—Yvonne laughing as she teased Evie, Simone offering them more leftovers for the road, Tara shouting, “Don’t steal my roommate!”

The sound made her smile.

When the voices downstairs finally faded and the front door clicked shut, Ophiel let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The room felt quieter, heavier, the kind of silence that settled after goodbyes. She turned to the stack of suitcases by her desk, tugged one open, and started pulling clothes out in neat piles. Sweaters on the chair, textbooks on the desk, socks tucked into the dresser drawer. The motions were grounding—something familiar after the whirlwind of the last two days.

She had just unrolled one of her star charts when she heard footsteps behind her.

Tara padded in, still barefoot, a stray piece of her short black hair falling across her forehead. Her grin was wide, bright, still carrying the leftover energy from the goodbyes.

“Your mom is adorable,” she declared, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “And Evie? Oh my god. I think I’m in love with your sister. She’s hilarious.”

Ophiel snorted softly, folding another shirt into the dresser. “Don’t tell her that. Her ego doesn’t need the boost.”

Tara hopped onto her bed, stretching out like a cat. “I already told her I want to adopt her. She said I could, as long as you still came with the package.”

Ophiel shook her head, but she felt the smile tugging at her mouth anyway.

For a moment, Tara was quiet, watching her tack up the star map. Then she said, softer, “I’m excited, you know. To spend this year with you. With all of us. It’s going to be good.”

Ophiel paused, looking over at her. Tara’s grin hadn’t dimmed, but there was something earnest behind it—something that made Ophiel’s chest warm.

“Yeah,” Ophiel said quietly, turning back to her half-unpacked things. “I think so too.”

The days slipped by in an easy blur. Morning sunlight streamed through the wide second-story window, warming the hardwood floor as Ophiel settled deeper into the rhythm of Delta Chi Theta.

At first, her half of the room was bare, the kind of blank canvas that made her stomach twist with how temporary it felt. But bit by bit, piece by piece, she carved it into something wholly her own. The bulletin board above her desk filled first: layers of star maps pinned in careful symmetry, printouts of constellations that stretched across the night sky, and a few hand-sketched diagrams from her time at Snowcrest. Beneath it, the desk grew cluttered in the way that spoke of someone who lived in their work—stacks of notebooks with corners frayed, a sleek telescope manual dog-eared and highlighted, and a small tray of pens, pencils, and delicate compasses.

The bed came next. She traded the plain sorority-issued sheets for her own quilt—deep navy, patterned with tiny embroidered stars Evie had begged her to bring. A throw blanket the color of twilight draped over the end, with one corner always folded from use. Pillows in soft gray and pale blue piled at the headboard, just enough to balance Tara’s wild explosion of neon and patterns across the room.

The girls had noticed her slow transformation, teasing her each night as she added another detail. Even Camille, quiet and cautious, had eventually drifted into their room one evening with a shy smile and a tiny terracotta pot cradled in her hands.

“For your window,” Camille had murmured, placing it gently on the sill. Inside, a little ivy plant leaned toward the light, its leaves round and glossy.

Ophiel had stared, caught off guard by the gesture. “You didn’t have to—”

Camille’s smile had deepened just slightly. “I wanted to.”

And that was that.

Evenings were a blur of voices and laughter—Simone tinkering with some contraption on the living room floor, Riley emerging soot-streaked with a new weld project, Yvonne tutoring Camille in chemistry while Tara dramatically acted out crime shows across the couch. Ophiel found herself drawn into their orbit without effort, her silences filled by their noise until, slowly, her silences began to fill with her own words too.

By the time the week folded in on itself, it felt less like she was visiting and more like she belonged.

The night before the welcome mixer, the house hummed with preparation. Jenna had issued strict reminders at dinner about attire, punctuality, and “not embarrassing themselves in front of Delta Psi Kappa.” Everyone had rolled their eyes, but no one dared argue.

Back upstairs, steam still clung faintly to the hallway as Tara padded back into their room, her short black hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. She tugged at the hem of her oversized tee as she entered, then froze mid-step.

“Whoa,” she said, eyebrows arching. “Would you look at that.”

Ophiel glanced up from where she knelt beside her desk, tucking the last stack of books neatly into place. Her side of the room had transformed completely.

Where once it had been sparse, now it gleamed with quiet purpose. The deep navy quilt glowed under the lamplight, tiny embroidered stars winking against the fabric. A few pinned Polaroids of Snowcrest—pine forests, rooftops, the observatory dome—were tucked between the constellations on her board, little anchors of home set against the vastness of her star maps. The telescope manual sat ready on the desk, beside a silver frame with a photo of her and Evie that she’d finally unpacked.

The ivy plant from Camille trailed long, eager vines across the sill, cradling a set of neatly folded curtains that Ophiel had tied back with simple blue ribbons. And in the corner, leaning carefully against the wall, was her telescope itself—black and sleek, its tripod gleaming faintly in the lamplight, waiting for the first clear night to be pointed skyward.

Tara whistled low, flopping onto her bed with her usual dramatic flair. “Alright, roomie. I gotta hand it to you. Your side looks like the planetarium and the library had a baby—and somehow it works. Very you.”

Ophiel turned, one brow arched. “You think so?”

“Uh, yeah.” Tara grinned, tucking her damp hair behind her ear. “Your side looks like a Pinterest board. My side looks like a crime scene.”

Ophiel’s eyes flicked to Tara’s half—pillows piled messily, notebooks scattered, fairy lights tangles against the wall. She smirked. “You said it, not me.”

Tara laughed, tossing her towel at her. “Smartass.”

Ophiel smirked, adjusting the last pin on her board. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good,” Tara said, tugging her blanket up and grinning across the room at her. “Because I meant it.” She stretched, settling into her pillows. “Tomorrow’s gonna be crazy, you know. The welcome mixer’s always is. But I think it’s gonna be fun. Especially now that I’ve got you to survive it with me.”

Ophiel smiled faintly, smoothing her quilt before sitting back on the edge of her bed. Tara’s words hung in the air, warm and easy, settling into her chest like a steady pulse.

“Crazy, huh?” Ophiel asked, glancing over at her roommate.

Tara tugged her damp hair into a messy knot, shrugging as she burrowed deeper under her blanket. “Always. Too many people, too much noise, way too much dancing. Half the sorority ends up losing their shoes, and at least one person falls into the punch bowl. But…” She rolled onto her side, eyes bright in the soft lamplight. “It’s also one of the best night of the year. You’ll see.”

Ophiel lay back on her bed, the ceiling above her washed in faint golden light from the lamp between their beds. Her star maps rustled faintly in the breeze through the open window, as though even the room itself was listening.

“I’m not much of a party person,” she admitted.

“Neither am I,” Tara said easily, already sounding half-asleep. “But the girls make it worth it. And tomorrow? You won’t just be the new transfer anymore. You’ll be one of us.”

The words landed heavier than Ophiel expected. She let her eyes drift shut, the hum of the city outside filtering through the curtains.

Chapter 3: The Welcome Mixer

The house was alive before the sun had fully crested the horizon.

Ophiel woke to the thrum of voices and the hiss of hair straighteners from the bathroom down the hall. The once-quiet corridors of Delta Chi Theta were now a storm of footsteps, laughter, and the slam of dresser drawers. Even through the door of her room she could hear it—the rush of the shower turning on and off, Camille’s soft murmur as she asked for a blow dryer, Riley groaning that makeup was a scam but fine, hand her the eyeliner anyway.

Tara was already halfway through her closet when Ophiel sat up. Her short black hair hung in damp waves from a morning shower, a towel knotted around her shoulders as she flung dresses across her bed.

“Morning, roommie,” Tara sang, holding up a tube top against herself before grimacing and tossing it aside. “Big day. Big night. No pressure or anything.”

Ophiel rubbed at her eyes, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. “Do people usually start panicking this early for a party?”

“It’s not just a party,” Tara shot back, hands on her hips. “It’s the mixer. First impressions matter. And you—” she jabbed a finger at Ophiel—“are making yours tonight.”

Before Ophiel could reply, the door burst open and Yvonne swept in, her braids pulled back tight and a dress slung over her arm. “Does anyone have the steamer? My dress has more wrinkles than Jenna’s forehead during finals week.”

“Kitchen cabinets,” Tara and Simone’s voice called at the same time—Simone passing by in the hallway with a curling iron in one hand, muttering about torque equations.

Yvonne winked at Ophiel as she disappeared again. “Don’t look so nervous, stargazer. You’ll charm them without even trying.”

Ophiel huffed a laugh, sliding out of bed and padding over to her side of the room. Her star quilt and telescope leaned in the corner like quiet reminders of who she was outside of all this noise. She tugged open her side of the closet for the first time that morning, rifling through the options she’d brought, unsure what counted as “mixer attire” in Linkon City.

Across the hall, someone squealed about lipstick shades, followed by Riley’s bark of laughter: “That’s not a lipstick, that’s a fire hazard.”

The energy was infectious. And overwhelming.
Ophiel glanced at Tara, who was now twirling in front of the mirror in a flowy black skirt. “You’re really excited about this, huh?”

Tara grinned, bright and unashamed. “Of course I am.” She flopped onto her bed dramatically, gesturing at Ophiel’s closet. “Now the only question is—what are you wearing?”

Ophiel tugged open her dresser drawer and stared at the contents with a sinking feeling. Flannel. Hoodies. Thick sweaters in shades of gray and navy. A single pair of dark jeans she’d deemed “nice enough” back home. Snowcrest clothes—practical for subzero nights, completely useless for a sorority-frat mixer in late summer.

She held up a wool cardigan uncertainly. “This… counts as formal, right?”

The reaction was immediate.

Tara let out a scandalized gasp loud enough to turn heads in the hall. “Absolutely not. You are not showing up looking like you’re ready to chop wood in the backyard.”

“I’d respect it,” Riley called from the doorway, eyeliner smudged across her hand as she leaned against the frame. “But she’d roast alive before the first drink was poured.”

Ophiel sighed, dropping the cardigan back onto the pile. “Well, this is literally all I have. Snowcrest doesn’t do cocktail dresses.”

Within seconds, the room turned tactical.

Simone swept into the room with a half-finished curl bouncing over one shoulder, tossing her brush onto Tara’s bed. “Wardrobe emergency? Alright, move. What’s her size?”

“Smaller than me, taller than you,” Tara answered instantly, already diving headfirst into her own closet.

“I’ve got skirts that might work,” Yvonne offered as she breezed past the door again. “Give me five minutes.”

Even Camille appeared shyly at the threshold, cradling a neatly folded blouse. “I… have this? It’s simple, but maybe with jewelry…”

Suddenly Ophiel was standing in the eye of a hurricane. Dresses flew onto her bed—silk, sequins, chiffon. Piles of skirts in every color imaginable. Shoes lined up along the wall like soldiers awaiting inspection. Tara was already pulling Ophiel by the wrist toward the mirror, muttering about necklines and colors that would “make her eyes pop.”

“This is ridiculous,” Ophiel laughed, overwhelmed but unable to fight the grin tugging at her mouth. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do,” Tara cut in firmly, holding a sleeveless black dress against her frame. “You’re one of us now. You’re not showing up in a snow parka.”

Yvonne reappeared just then, tossing a silky pale blue blouse onto the bed. “Try that with the black skirt Simone mentioned. Perfect balance of effortless and elegant.”

“I still say she should go flannel,” Riley drawled, smudging a Q-tip under her eye.

“Shut up,” Tara, Simone, and Yvonne chorused.
Even Ophiel couldn’t help but laugh at that. The room became a revolving door of fabric. Ophiel found herself tugging on one dress only for Tara to make a face and yank it off her, Simone clicking her tongue like a stylist in training, Yvonne insisting they “just wait” for the right fit. Camille hovered in the corner, offering quiet encouragement, while Riley lounged across Tara’s bed with her boots kicked up, providing sarcastic commentary the whole time.

“Nope,” Tara said, shaking her head as Ophiel stepped out in a sequined red number. “Too skanky.”

“Yeah, she looks like she’s about to steal someone’s husband,” Riley quipped.

Simone thrust a soft pastel dress into Ophiel’s hands. “Try this one.”

Minutes later, Ophiel emerged, tugging at the hem. Yvonne tilted her head thoughtfully. “Pretty… but too daytime. She needs something with presence.”

Ophiel groaned, flopping backward onto her bed. “At this point I should just wear the cardigan.”

“No way,” Tara said firmly, diving back into her closet one last time. She emerged triumphant, holding up a sleek black cocktail dress. The fabric shimmered subtly under the light, its shape simple but elegant, the hem falling to just below the knee. “This. This is the one.”

“Classic,” Yvonne agreed, nodding approvingly. “Timeless. She’ll own the room.”

Even Riley whistled low. “Not bad, Stargazer. Might actually make some frat boy trip over his own feet.”

Ophiel rolled her eyes, but when she slipped into the dress, she felt it—the way it hugged her frame without suffocating, the way it moved when she turned, the effortless confidence it seemed to drape off of her shoulders. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused, surprised.

“See?” Tara beamed, standing behind her with hands on her hips. “Told you. Gorgeous.”

Simone nodded in approval, Camille offered a shy little clap, and Yvonne plucked her silver bracelet off, fastening it around Ophiel’s wrist. “There. Perfect.”

Ophiel smoothed her hands over the fabric, cheeks warm, but for once she didn’t argue.

“Alright,” Tara said with a grin, collapsing onto her bed. “Now that that’s settled—we just have to survive the actual mixer.”

The black dress settled around her like a second skin, but Ophiel’s nerves prickled underneath it. As the girls shifted gears into full prep mode, their room became one node in a hive of buzzing energy.

Makeup palettes sprawled across Tara’s desk. Hair straighteners hissed in the bathroom. Perfume mingled with the faint scent of nail polish, laughter bouncing from wall to wall as the girls rushed between rooms.

Tara had stationed herself on the floor with a mirror propped against the wall, meticulously lining her eyes with a concentration that seemed almost comical given her usual chaos. “You cannot—cannot—sweat off eyeliner in the first hour. It’s the golden rule.”

“Pretty sure that’s not the golden rule,” Riley muttered, sprawled across her bed with a bottle of nail polish in hand. “But okay.”

Ophiel sat at the edge of her bed, hands folded tightly in her lap, trying to ignore the jitter in her stomach. She was supposed to look put together, like she belonged here. Instead, she felt like she was wearing someone else’s skin.

Camille appeared at her side like a quiet shadow, holding a hairbrush in one hand and a box of silver pins in the other. “May I?” she asked softly.

Ophiel blinked. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Sure.”

Camille’s smile was small but steady. She guided Ophiel toward the desk chair and began working carefully, brushing her dark hair into smooth, loose waves before gathering part of it back into a delicate twist, pinning it with gentle precision. “You have beautiful hair,” she murmured, almost shyly. “It catches the light.”

Ophiel’s cheeks warmed. “Thanks, Camille.”

Across the room, Yvonne breezed in with the kind of energy that made her feel like a gust of fresh air. She plopped a necklace into Ophiel’s lap. “Wear this. Simple, but it’ll frame your neckline perfectly.” She winked. “Trust me, I’m pre-med. I know anatomy.”

That broke the tension—Tara snorted, Riley cackled, and even Ophiel laughed as she clasped the delicate chain around her neck.

The door to the hallway banged open again, and Jenna swept in, heels already on, phone in hand. She barely glanced at anyone as she barked into the speaker. “Yes, I said eight sharp. If the caterers are late, I’ll pull funding from next semester’s order. Do not test me.”

She ended the call, tossed herself onto Tara’s bed, and immediately dialed another number. “Lighting crew? How’s the setup?”

“Jenna,” Simone groaned, sprawled on the rug with her notebook, half-finished curls falling around her face. “It’s a mixer, not a summit for world leaders.”

“Exactly,” Jenna replied coolly, tucking her phone between her shoulder and ear as she rifled through her clutch. “Which is why it needs to go perfectly. Delta Chi Theta does not half-ass first impressions.”

“God, I love it when she gets scary,” Tara whispered, grinning at Ophiel through the mirror.

By the time Camille finished with her hair and Yvonne applied the last dab of highlighter to her cheekbones, Ophiel hardly recognized the reflection staring back at her. Her green eyes gleamed brighter, her lips were softened with a subtle tint of color, and the black midi dress framed her figure with quiet elegance.

“You look amazing,” Tara declared, hands on her hips.

“Like, unfairly amazing,” Riley added, blowing on her nails. “Gonna make half the frat regret their life choices.”

Ophiel gave a shaky laugh, smoothing her hands over her dress. “I don’t know. I feel… out of my element.”

“That’s because you’ve never been in this element before,” Yvonne said warmly, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “But you will be. Just breathe, stargazer. We’ve got you.”

Before she knew it, the house had emptied into the night.

Ophiel fell into step with the others as they left Delta Chi Theta, heels clicking against the sidewalk. The girls moved as a unit—Tara laughing loud enough to carry down the block, Yvonne waving as someone called her name, Jenna striding ahead like she was leading a parade. Their dresses shimmered in the lamplight, every one of them polished and radiant, and Ophiel felt a ripple of pride that she belonged among them.

The further they walked, the more the streets thickened with students. Music pulsed faintly from the quad in the distance, the unmistakable thrum of bass weaving into the night air. Groups of people streamed down the sidewalks, laughter spilling into the humid evening, the buzz of excitement growing with every block.

“ΔΧΘ!” someone shouted, and the girls turned in unison. Across the street, three more sorority sisters waved—upperclassmen who didn’t live in the house but wore the letters with equal pride.
“Carmen!” Yvonne called, crossing quickly to hug her. “I haven’t seen you since finals.”

Another, a tall girl with a shock of platinum hair, grinned and nudged Tara. “You actually look put together for once. Miracles happen.”

“Shut up, Lila,” Tara shot back, though she beamed as she pulled her into a hug.

Ophiel hung back slightly, watching as greetings overlapped—squeals, hugs, updates about internships and summer trips. It was like the web of Delta Chi Theta stretched far beyond their house, threading out into every corner of campus.

“Hey,” Camille murmured at her side, holding a clutch against her chest. “It’s a lot, huh?”

Ophiel let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Definitely."

Camille smiled, brushing her hair back as they rejoined the group.

The closer they drew to the heart of campus, the denser the crowd became. Students filled every corner of the quad now, strings of lights draped overhead, tables set with food and drinks. The low thump of music had swelled into a beat that vibrated through the pavement, laughter and shouts rising to meet it.

The quad was glowing by the time they reached it. Strings of lights crisscrossed overhead, their bulbs flickering gold against the navy sky. Tables groaned under trays of food, and the air smelled faintly of grilled meat, sugar, and something spiked hidden in the punch bowl. Laughter carried across the quad, threaded with the steady thump of bass that seemed to beat right into Ophiel’s chest.

Jenna came to a stop just shy of the crowd’s thickest point. She slipped her phone into her purse with a decisive click, turned, and fixed the group with the sharp gaze of someone who had rehearsed this moment a dozen times.

“Alright, ladies,” she said, voice crisp enough to cut through the music. A few more Delta Chi Theta sisters—those who didn’t live in the house—drifted close, falling into the orbit of Jenna’s authority. “Listen up. This is our first event of the year, and half the student body is here. We’re not just attending—we’re hosting. Which means we make an impression.”

Tara mock-saluted, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jenna ignored her, continuing. “We’re partnered with Delta Psi Kappa for this, and they’ve done their part setting up. Our part is making sure things run smoothly. That means no one gets sloppy in the first hour, no one disappears without checking in, and everyone is approachable.” Her eyes flicked around the group, lingering on Ophiel just long enough to make her stomach flip. “We’re not just here for ourselves—we’re representing Delta Chi Theta.”

Simone groaned but nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Smile, mingle, look fabulous. We’ve got it.”

Yvonne reached out, giving Ophiel’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t look so nervous. Half the job is just showing up with confidence.”

“Exactly,” Jenna said, adjusting the strap of her purse. “Now—let’s move. Remember, this sets the tone for the year.”

And with that, the girls surged forward into the glow of lights and music, slipping into the current of students like they’d done it a hundred times before. 

As Jenna strode ahead, already slipping into conversation with a pair of professors by the check-in table, the group began to fan out across the quad—Yvonne drifting toward another cluster of sorority sisters, Simone eyeing the makeshift DJ booth with an engineer’s critical squint, Camille hanging back with her hands folded politely.

Ophiel lingered near the edge, her eyes darting over the sea of faces. The music thumped harder here, vibrating in her ribs, and the air shimmered with perfume, cologne, and the faint sugary tang of spiked punch. It was dazzling—and overwhelming.

Before her nerves could coil too tight, Tara looped her arm through Ophiel’s and leaned close, her grin bright and mischievous. “You need a drink.”

Ophiel blinked at her. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Tara said firmly, tugging her toward a long folding table draped in white cloth and strung with fairy lights. “You’ve got that wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlights look. A little punch will fix that right up.”

“I thought Jenna said no getting sloppy.”

“Sloppy? No. Buzzed though?” Tara winked. “Absolutely.”

Ophiel huffed a laugh despite herself, letting Tara drag her through the crowd. The further they wove, the more voices pressed in—greetings, laughter, the scrape of chairs on pavement. Someone called Tara’s name, and she threw a wave without slowing. Ophiel just clutched the strap of her purse tighter, trying to soak it all in.

At the refreshment table, Tara snagged two plastic cups of punch, handing one over like it was a secret weapon. “Drink, breathe, then smile. Trust me—it’s our survival kit.”

Ophiel took the cup gingerly, the liquid fizzing faintly pink under the string lights. She glanced at Tara, who raised hers in a mock toast before downing half in one go.

“You’re insane,” Ophiel muttered, but she took a cautious sip.

Sweet, fruity, with just enough of a burn underneath to make her throat warm.

The punch warmed Ophiel’s chest as Tara tugged her back into the tide of students. The quad was alive now, clusters of people sprawled under the strings of lights, voices overlapping in an endless weave of chatter. Laughter burst like sparks near the food table, the bass beat thudded heavy underfoot, and the scent of barbecue mingled with perfume and grass.

Tara kept a steady grip on her arm, steering them through the crowd like a practiced guide. “Rule number one,” she said over the music, “stick with someone until you find your rhythm. Otherwise, you’ll get swallowed whole.”

“Comforting,” Ophiel muttered.

“It is,” Tara said brightly, nodding toward a group of students who raised their cups. “See? They’re already impressed.”

The closer they drew, the more voices reached them. 

“ΔΧΘ looks amazing this year.” 

“Props to both houses for pulling this off." Compliments rained down like confetti, half shouted, half murmured between clinks of plastic cups.

Tara accepted them all with her usual flair, grinning, tossing quick thank-yous, making sure to nudge Ophiel forward with every step. “Smile,” she whispered at one point, low enough for only Ophiel to hear. “They eat that up.”

Ophiel did—tentatively at first, then more naturally when the students they passed returned it. 

They’d just rounded past the drink table again when a tall guy with sandy-brown hair and sharp shoulders turned at the sound of Tara’s laugh. His face split into a wide grin.

“No way. Tara?”

Tara froze for half a heartbeat before her whole expression lit up. “Jeremiah!” She let go of Ophiel’s arm just long enough to pull him into a hug. “I haven’t seen you since—what? Last spring formal?”

“Something like that.” Jeremiah chuckled, adjusting the cuff of his button-down. “You look exactly the same. Loud and impossible to miss.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Tara beamed, then tugged Ophiel closer by the wrist. “Ophie, this is Jeremiah. He’s one of ΔΨΚ’s good ones.”

Jeremiah offered his hand with an easy grin. “Nice to meet you. You’re new, right? Transfer?”

“Yeah,” Ophiel said, shaking his hand, her voice steadier than she expected. “Astronomy major.”

“Brave,” Jeremiah teased lightly. “Don’t let Tara corrupt you too fast. She’s got a reputation.”

Tara smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “Shut up, I’m a saint.”

Ophiel couldn’t help laughing at the banter, the warmth of it easing her nerves further. Jeremiah’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but before he could say more, someone in the distance called his name. He waved back, then glanced at Ophiel once more.

“Welcome to LCU,” he said. “And good luck tonight, Ophie."

With that, he melted back into the crowd, leaving Ophiel blinking after him.

Tara leaned in close, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Jeremiah’s Xavier’s guy. They’ve been friends for forever. If he’s sniffing around already, it means someone noticed you.”

Ophiel’s stomach gave a little flip at that. She glanced toward the crowd, half-expecting to see eyes watching her.

But the mixer was a sea of faces, and she couldn’t be sure.

They lingered by the edge of the dance area, students weaving past them with drinks in hand, the bass vibrating up through the soles of Ophiel’s shoes. Her nerves had cooled into curiosity now, sharpened by Jeremiah’s passing mention of Xavier.

“So…” Ophiel started slowly, sipping from her cup. “What’s the deal with the fraternity guys? You all talk about them like they run the campus.”

Tara snorted, flipping her short black hair back over her shoulder. “Because, in a way, they kind of do. At least, socially. Academically? Eh, mixed bag. But still. You’ll meet them all eventually. Trust me, they’re impossible to avoid.”

Ophiel tilted her head. “Then tell me now. What are they like?”

Tara groaned dramatically, tugging her toward a row of benches that lined the edge of the quad. “Fine, but we’re sitting down for this. The list is long, and I don’t have the lung capacity to shout it all over the music.”

They dropped onto the wooden bench, the wood still warm from the day’s sun. Tara crossed her legs dramatically on the bench, swirling the punch in her cup like it was wine. “Okay, rapid-fire rundown. ΔΨΚ’s finest. Don’t quote me on any of this, I’ll deny it.”

She held up a finger. “First, Xavier. Baseball guy, brainiac. Astronomy major. He’s… you know, calm, polite, kind of robotic sometimes, but weirdly charming once you get past the zero-expression face.”

Ophiel raised an eyebrow. “Robotic?”

“You’ll see.” Tara smirked, sipping. “Anyway, then there’s Rafayel. Artist. Flakey as hell. Gorgeous and he knows it. He’ll flirt with a lamp post if it looks at him funny.”

A second finger went up. “Sylus. Business major. Scary smart. Scary everything, really. He doesn’t play by rules unless they’re his own. Definitely has a whole Batman thing going on—dark, broody, secretly a softie for strays.”

Then she ticked off another finger. “Zayne. Medicine track. Future surgeon. Stoic, serious, very no-nonsense. The guy patching people up after mixers when they try to backflip off tables.”

Ophiel blinked, the name slamming into her chest. “Wait—Zayne?"

Tara glanced at her, surprised. “Uh, yeah? You know him?”

Her mind reeled. Zayne. From Snowcrest. The boy who’d stitched up her scraped knees when they were kids, who’d carried stray dogs home in his backpack, who’d disappeared the second graduation hit. He’s here? He’s one of them?

She barely registered Tara’s last name on the list until it landed like a hammer.

“And of course,” Tara said, almost lazily, “Caleb. The golden boy. Aerospace engineering, football team, practically made of sunshine. Obsessed with planes since forever, like he’s already picturing himself in a cockpit. Honestly, it’s cute.”

Ophiel’s breath caught. The sound of music, laughter, chatter around them dimmed all at once.

Planes.
Football.
Caleb.

Her Caleb.

She stared blindly into the crowd, her stomach twisting. All this time she’d been telling herself it couldn’t be him—that the name was just a coincidence. But Tara’s words stripped the denial clean away.

It was him.

And he was here.

Tara kept going, her voice bright and animated, hands waving as she leaned back against the bench. “—and don’t even get me started on their pledges. They practically worship the ground Caleb walks on, it’s hilarious. Oh, and Sylus? Total adrenaline junkie. Rumor has it he once bet Rafayel he could parachute into—”

The words blurred, fading under the pounding in Ophiel’s ears. Her thoughts scrambled, looping back to that single point again and again. Every memory of him from Snowcrest flickered at once—the boy who used to sneak her onto rooftops just to stargaze, the grin that always spelled trouble, the way his eyes lit up whenever a plane soared overhead.

It really is him.

She barely noticed her hands tightening around her cup, her pulse quickening like she was still twelve and running to keep up with him down the hill behind her house.

Tara’s voice cut through the fog suddenly, cheerful and oblivious. “—okay, you know what, this conversation is officially dry, and I need another drink.” She stood in one smooth motion, tugging at Ophiel’s arm. “C’mon, roomie. Walk with me. You look like you need one too.”

Jenna had long since slipped into her element. Mixer nights weren’t for relaxing—they were for running the show. She moved through the crowd with her usual precision, smiling where it mattered, shaking hands with faculty and alumni, making sure the compliments about the setup flowed as freely as the punch. Every nod of approval went into the mental ledger she’d tally later.

She was in the middle of smoothing over a question from a professor when she felt it: a light, deliberate touch at the top of her back, just between her shoulders. Enough to draw her attention, not enough to be mistaken for anything casual.

Jenna turned, already ready to deflect—then froze for just a half-second.

Sylus.

He towered easily above the crowd, 6’2 with broad, sculpted muscle filling the sharp lines of his dress shirt. His messy silver hair caught the glow of the string lights overhead, and his bright red eyes stood out starkly in the dusky evening, unsettling and arresting all at once. Every angle of his face was cut sharp, like something honed rather than born.

And yet, he looked almost relaxed, one hand still tucked casually in his pocket, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Sylus,” Jenna greeted, her tone smoothing into practiced warmth as she adjusted her posture. “I was wondering when you’d finally make your appearance.”

“President,” he said in that low, measured voice of his, tilting his head slightly as though amused by her. 

“Madam President,” Jenna corrected, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

The red of his eyes seemed to catch on her for a beat too long. “Of course.”

Jenna tilted her chin, folding her arms loosely across her midsection. “You’re late.”

Sylus’s mouth curved—half amusement, half challenge. “I wasn’t aware I was on your roster for the evening.”

“You’re ΔΨΚ,” Jenna countered smoothly. “Which means you’re automatically part of my roster tonight. Everyone has eyes on us, and you vanishing into the shadows doesn’t exactly scream reliable host.”

He shifted slightly, leaning one shoulder against the edge of a support post. The string lights overhead caught on the silver mess of his hair, making it look like spun steel. “Everything’s fine. No one noticed I was gone until you did.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, though her eyes glinted. “That’s not the point.”

“Maybe not to you.” He let his gaze sweep lazily over the crowd, students laughing, dancing, cups raised under the glow of the lights. “But to them? They don’t care if I’m here or not.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes. “I care.”

At that, he finally looked back at her, and the faintest flicker of genuine amusement touched his face. “I know.”

For a moment, the noise of the mixer dimmed around them, just the thrum of the bass underneath their words.

Jenna exhaled, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress. “Well, since you’re here now, try not to cause trouble.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, that half-smile deepening just enough to suggest mischief. “We'll see.” He let the words hang for a beat before adding, almost idly, “So. How’s the new girl settling in?”

Jenna’s brows arched. “The transfer?”

“Mm.” His red eyes caught the light, sharper now, more calculating. “Astronomy major. Quiet. Looks like she’d rather be studying the stars than drowning in punch.”

Jenna regarded him carefully, folding her arms. “Her name is Ophiel. And she’s doing just fine.”

“Is she?” Sylus’s tone was smooth, unreadable, but there was an edge of curiosity there that Jenna didn’t entirely trust. “Interesting move, bringing someone like her into Delta Chi Theta. She doesn’t exactly scream ‘sorority material.’”

“She doesn’t need to,” Jenna replied coolly. “She’s one of us now. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, just watching her with those sharp red eyes like he was filing the information away. Then, slowly, his mouth curved again, more smirk than smile.

“Good to know,” he murmured, before straightening, slipping his hands back into his pockets. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t toy with her, Sylus.”

His smirk widened by a fraction. “Who said anything about toying?”

And then, as easily as he’d appeared, he turned and drifted back into the crowd.

Jenna’s gaze tracked him through the crowd until his silver hair and broad shoulders disappeared into the press of bodies. Only then did she allow her expression to slip, lips tightening as her nails tapped a slight beat against the strap of her clutch.

Sylus rarely asked questions out of idle curiosity. When he did, it meant he’d already noticed something—or someone—and decided they were worth watching.

And now, apparently, that someone was Ophiel.

Jenna drew in a slow breath, straightening her shoulders. She had vouched for the transfer, vouched for her potential and her place in Delta Chi Theta. If Sylus saw her as fragile, or worse—entertainment—it could ripple in ways Ophiel wasn’t ready for.

“Not on my watch,” Jenna muttered under her breath, slipping her phone back into her hand and plastering her smile back into place before rejoining a group of faculty near the catering table.

Still, at the back of her mind, the image lingered: Sylus’s red eyes glinting under the lights, that smirk when he said he’d keep an eye out.

He would.

And Jenna knew better than most that once Sylus set his sights on something, he didn’t look away.

Meanwhile, across the quad, Ophie and Tara had carved out a spot at the punch table. Tara was halfway through her second cup, leaning casually against the edge as she gestured wildly through some story Ophie only half followed—something about last year’s mixer ending with a golf cart and a sprinkler system.

Ophie nodded along, her own cup barely touched, her thoughts still scrambled from Tara’s rundown on the fraternity boys. Caleb’s name echoed like static in the back of her head, refusing to fade.

“Ladies,” a familiar voice cut in, drawling like it was the setup to a joke.

Riley appeared at their side, eyeliner sharp, nails freshly painted and glinting under the lights. She plopped her cup down on the table with a clatter and leaned her hip against it like she’d been part of the conversation all along.

“You two look like you’re plotting something,” Riley said, eyes flicking between them. “Or maybe Ophie’s just realizing she accidentally joined the most dramatic sorority on campus.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “We were not plotting. I was educating.”

“Educating her on what, exactly?” Riley asked, smirking as she filled her own cup from the ladle.

“The men of ΔΨΚ,” Tara announced proudly, like she was unveiling a museum exhibit. “She needs to know what she’s up against.”

Riley snorted into her drink. “Poor girl. You’ll never survive.”

Ophie managed a laugh, though it came out thinner than she meant. Her fingers tightened around the cup, the noise of the mixer swirling around them.

Riley leaned her elbows onto the table, smirk curling at the edges of her mouth. “Alright, if you really want to know what you’re up against, let me give you a preview. Let’s talk Rafayel.”

Tara groaned, tossing her head back. “Oh, please, not this one again.”

“Oh, definitely this one again,” Riley shot back, eyes gleaming. She turned toward Ophie, lowering her voice like she was about to share a scandalous secret. “Last semester, Rafayel was supposed to show up to this big gallery showing—one that his manager, Thomas, had been hyping for months. Everyone was there. Faculty, students, half the city’s art scene. But Rafayel? Completely MIA.”

Tara covered her face with her hand. “Oh god.”

“Where was he?” Ophie asked before she could stop herself.

Riley grinned, delighted at her curiosity. “Out by the docks. Collecting seashells. Swear to god. Says he needed them to grind into pigment for a new piece. Left the whole gallery hanging, then showed up two days later with paint under his nails and some ridiculous mural that actually ended up going viral.”

Tara threw up her hands. “And somehow he gets away with it every time. If I skipped a house event to play with seashells, Jenna would bury me alive.”

“Difference is,” Riley said dryly, “you’re not a tortured genius with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.”

Ophie laughed softly despite herself, shaking her head. “So he’s… unpredictable.”

“That’s one word for it,” Riley said, sipping her drink. “Pain in the ass is another. But—” her expression softened just slightly, betraying some affection under the sarcasm, “—he’s got a good heart, when he wants to. Just don’t expect him to show up on time. Or at all.”

Tara snorted. “You say that like you’re not his favorite person to bother.”

Riley raised her cup in mock salute. “Can’t help it if I’m irresistible."

Riley smirked into her cup, clearly pleased with herself, when Tara suddenly froze mid-sip. Her eyes went wide, sparkling like she’d just spotted a celebrity.

“Oh my god,” Tara gasped, clutching Ophie’s wrist so tightly the punch in her other hand nearly sloshed over. “Speak of the devil—or, well, not that devil—but close enough.”

Ophie blinked, startled. “What?”

Tara yanked her subtly closer to her side, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial hiss. “Xavier.”

Following Tara’s line of sight, Ophie spotted him across the quad, standing near Jeremiah. Even from the distance, he was impossible to miss.
Xavier’s height alone made him stand out, his frame lean but steady. His silver hair caught the glow of the string lights, falling in slightly messy strands against his fair skin. The contrast only sharpened the piercing blue of his eyes—calm, watchful, like they were drinking in everything around him without rush. He wore a white button-up with a blue tie, sleeves pushed just past his wrists, paired with simple dark pants that made him look almost understated compared to the chaos around him.

Where Jeremiah laughed and gestured broadly as he chatted with a pair of students, Xavier stood at ease, listening, his expression neutral—serene, almost—but not unkind.

Tara squeezed Ophie’s hand, practically vibrating. “Okay, okay, this is perfect timing. You’re going to meet him. Right now.”

Ophie’s stomach dipped. “Wait, what?”

Tara grinned, already tugging her into the crowd. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Riley just snorted behind them, muttering into her drink, “God help you, newbie.”

And before Ophie could protest again, she was being pulled across the quad, her pulse hammering louder than the bass.

The crowd pressed around them, voices and laughter weaving into the heavy thrum of music. Ophie tried to dig her heels in, but Tara’s grip was iron, dragging her forward with the determination of a woman on a mission.

“Slow down—” Ophie hissed, but Tara only tossed her a grin over her shoulder.

“Nope. We’re doing this.”

They broke through a knot of students just as Jeremiah caught sight of them. His face lit up with recognition, and he lifted a hand in an easy wave.

“Tara!” he called, excusing himself from his conversation. “Back again already? You’re making the punch table jealous.”

Tara rolled her eyes but released Ophie’s hand long enough to smack Jeremiah lightly on the arm. “Don’t start. I’m here on official business.” She tugged Ophie forward, her grin wide and wicked. “Introducing our newest sister, Ophiel.”

Jeremiah’s eyes crinkled with warmth as he turned to Ophie. “Ah, yes, the transfer. We met earlier.

“Briefly,” Ophie said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Jeremiah’s grin only widened before he tipped his head toward the figure beside him. “Then you should meet Xavier.”

Xavier shifted slightly at his name, blue eyes landing on her with a calm, almost curious weight. Up close, he was even more striking—the silver hair, the white button-up against the sharp lines of his frame, the quiet intensity in his gaze that felt like he was observing more than just her face.

For a beat, Ophie forgot to breathe.

Tara, of course, filled the silence. “Xavier, this is Ophiel—our shiny new star girl. Be nice to her.”

Xavier’s lips moved into the faintest ghost of a smile, subtle enough that she wondered if she imagined it. His voice, when it came, was calm and even, but carried oddly sharp clarity over the din of the mixer.

“Ophiel,” he said, as though tasting the name. “Astronomy, right?”

Her heart stuttered. “Yeah. How did you—”

“Jeremiah mentioned it,” Xavier cut in gently, though his gaze never left hers. “It suits you.”

Tara shot Ophie a look like see, told you so, before leaning back with smug satisfaction.

Ophie, meanwhile, could only clutch her cup tighter, trying not to drown in the sudden rush of nerves. “Thanks,” Ophie managed, her voice quieter than she meant.

Before she could think of anything else to say, Jeremiah cut in with a grin, nudging Xavier with his elbow. “You know, Xavier’s actually majoring in astronomy too. You two probably already speak the same language.”

Ophie’s chest tightened—of course she knew, Tara had practically drilled it into her an hour ago—but hearing it confirmed made her pulse jump.

Tara lit up instantly, clapping her hands together like Jeremiah had just announced the winning lottery numbers. “Oh my god, that's right! You two can nerd out together! Look at that, perfect match—stars aligning and everything.”

Ophie groaned softly under her breath, heat creeping up the back of her neck. “Tara…”

Tara only grinned wider, unbothered by Ophie’s mortified tone. “Don’t ‘Tara’ me. This is fate. The universe wants you two to swap telescope stories and debate black holes until sunrise.”

Jeremiah laughed, raising his cup in mock toast. "If you plant the seed, Xavier will actually do that.”

“I would,” Xavier said matter-of-factly, his voice calm as ever. His gaze flicked back to Ophie, steady and unreadable, like he was studying her reaction. “If she wanted to.”

Ophie’s throat went dry. She scrambled for something—anything—to say, but the words tangled in her chest.

Tara elbowed her lightly. “See? He’s practically begging you to nerd out.”

“I’m not begging,” Xavier corrected, deadpan.

That earned another laugh from Jeremiah, who clapped him on the shoulder. “And that, ladies, is as close as you’ll ever get to Xavier admitting excitement.”

Tara leaned close to Ophie, stage-whispering just loud enough to be heard over the music. “He likes you. That’s his excited face.”

Heat crawled higher up Ophie’s neck. “Tara, please.”

Xavier blinked slowly, the faintest ghost of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Tara, mercifully, shifted gears, launching into a ramble about last year’s spring formal and how she nearly tripped down the auditorium steps but somehow turned it into a “planned dance move.” Jeremiah snorted into his drink, Xavier listened with his usual serene detachment, and Ophie tried to cool the heat in her cheeks by focusing on anything other than the way his eyes lingered on her.

She was just starting to relax when her name cut clean through the noise of the quad.

“Ophiel.”

All four of them turned. Jenna stood a few yards away, perfectly composed in her sleek dress, her clutch tucked under one arm. Even with the crowd bustling around her, her presence was magnetic—Delta Chi Theta’s president in full command.

Tara groaned dramatically, flopping back a step. “Oh no. Here comes the fun police. Are you about to steal my roommate already?”

“Yes,” Jenna said crisply, no hesitation. “I need her.”

Tara pressed a hand to her heart. “Ruthless.”

Ophie blinked, pulse stumbling. She glanced back toward Xavier, caught between reluctance and relief. “It was… nice to meet you, Xavier,” she said softly.

Xavier inclined his head just slightly, his calm blue gaze fixed on her. “You too.”

Before she could linger, Jenna’s hand was already at her elbow, steering her away and back into the current of the crowd. Tara called something after them, Jeremiah laughed, and the music swallowed the rest.

Ophie let herself be swept along, her heart still thudding in her chest.

Jenna didn’t stop until they’d slipped past the densest part of the crowd, weaving through clusters of students until the thrum of bass softened into something more distant. They came to a narrow strip along the edge of the quad where the lights dimmed, the chatter lessened, and the air felt cooler against Ophie’s skin.

Jenna finally released her, exhaling sharply as she leaned one hand against the low brick wall edging the grass. “God, my heels are killing me,” she muttered, flexing one foot with a wince before straightening again. Even tired, her posture snapped back into place, her poise undented.

Ophie shifted her cup between her hands, unsure what to say.

Then Jenna’s sharp eyes softened just a fraction. “How are you doing, Ophiel? Really.”

The question caught her off guard. She blinked, glancing out toward the glow of the mixer where Tara’s laugh carried faintly over the crowd. “I’m… fine. Just a little overwhelmed, maybe.”

Jenna hummed, not surprised. “That’s normal. First mixer is always a tidal wave. Too many names, too many faces, too much noise.” Her lips curved in a faint smile. “I’d be concerned if you weren’t overwhelmed.”

Ophie let out a small laugh, tension loosening in her shoulders. “So I’m not failing sorority life on day one?”

“Not even close,” Jenna said firmly. “From what I’ve seen, you’re handling yourself better than half the house did at their first event.”

The words settled warmly in Ophie’s chest, unexpected but steadying.

Jenna’s gaze flicked back toward the crowd, scanning the glow of the quad as though she still had tabs on every conversation happening at once. “I saw you met Xavier,” she said after a pause, her tone measured but not unkind. “He’s… sharp. One of the brightest in their house, actually. Keeps to himself. Not one to waste words.”

Ophie shifted slightly, her pulse still unsteady from the encounter. “Yeah. He seemed… calm. Different.”

Jenna’s mouth curved faintly, but her eyes stayed cool. “That’s one way to put it.” She turned her full attention back on Ophie then, tilting her head. “Have you met anyone else from ΔΨΚ yet?”

Ophie hesitated, shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Jenna said automatically, the word slipping out before she seemed to register it herself.

Her expression didn’t falter, but the silence that followed told Ophie more than Jenna probably intended.

“Why good?” Ophie asked carefully.

Jenna straightened, adjusting the strap of her clutch with the precision of someone resetting her armor. “Listen, Ophiel,” she said, her voice dipping into something firmer. “ΔΨΚ boys are… magnetic. That’s part of their draw. Smart, charming, good at making you feel like you’re the only one in the room. It’s easy to get caught in their shit before you realize it.”

Ophie’s brow furrowed. “And that’s… bad?”

“Not always,” Jenna admitted, her eyes flicking back toward the crowd. “But sometimes it’s distracting. You’re here for you. Your studies, your future. Don’t let them pull that focus away.”

Her words sank in, sharp and sensible—but Ophie’s mind drifted, her gaze wandering the glow of the quad. That’s when she saw him.

Caleb.

He stood near the drink table, surrounded by a half-circle of other students, his easy laugh carrying even over the music. Tall, broad-shouldered, fitted blazer and open-collared shirt sitting on him like second nature. His dark brown hair caught the soft string light glow, but it was his eyes that froze her where she stood—bright violet, striking even from across the crowd.

The years had honed him. His smile was warm, approachable, magnetic in a way that pulled people closer without him even trying. The Caleb she remembered—the boy with the crooked grin and endless energy—was still there, but now wrapped in polish and presence that commanded the whole space.

Her pulse stuttered.

Jenna’s voice kept on, but it blurred, lost under the sudden rushing in Ophie’s ears. Because just then, Caleb glanced up.

And their eyes met.

For one fleeting, electric second, the crowd, the music, the chatter—it all fell away. Purple met green, recognition flickering, though his smile never faltered as he turned smoothly back to the group beside him.

Ophie’s grip on her cup tightened, her chest tightening with it.

“Ophiel?” Jenna’s hand brushed her arm, bringing her back. “Did you hear me?”

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. “Y-yeah. I heard you.”

Jenna gave her a long look, like she wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t press. “Good. Just remember what I said,” she murmured, adjusting her posture before nodding back toward the main flow of the quad. “Come on. Let’s not skulk in the shadows all night. People notice.”

Ophie forced herself to move, her heels clicking faintly against the pavement as she followed Jenna back toward the crowd. But every step felt heavier, her focus split between Jenna’s sharp instructions and the awareness prickling at the edge of her vision.

Because Caleb was still there.

He was laughing at something one of his teammates said, his hand resting easy on the shoulder of another. People leaned into him without realizing it, pulled by that gravity he’d always had—back in Snowcrest when he was the boy who could brighten a room, and now, here at LCU, when he was something more. Larger. Brighter.

Ophie told herself to look away, to focus on the group of sorority sisters waving Jenna over. But her gaze betrayed her, flicking back once more.

Caleb’s head turned, just slightly, as if on instinct. His violet eyes swept the crowd again—and found her.

This time, he didn’t look away immediately.

The noise of the mixer dimmed again, a trick of her racing heart. His expression didn’t falter—still approachable, still warm for the people around him—but for the briefest second, there was a hitch. A flicker of something she couldn’t name.

Recognition. Surprise.

Maybe even disbelief.

And then, smooth as ever, he turned back to his group, his laugh easy and practiced as though nothing had happened.

Ophie’s breath hitched, her grip tightening around her cup until the plastic creaked.

He saw me.

Jenna’s voice cut back through her haze. “Smile, Ophiel. People are watching.”

So she did. She smiled, her lips moving, her body following Jenna’s lead as she guided her back into the thick of the quad, then peeled off toward a group of alumni, her phone already back in hand. Ophie slipped away as soon as she could without drawing attention, weaving through clusters of students until she spotted a familiar shock of short black hair.

“Took you long enough,” Tara called over the music the moment Ophie approached, waving her over like she’d been lost at sea. Camille and Simone stood with her, the three of them clustered near one of the food tables stacked high with chips and trays of sliders.

Camille offered a shy smile, holding out a napkin with a small pastry balanced on it. “You should eat something,” she said softly. “It helps with the punch.”

Ophie took it gratefully, though her appetite was nowhere to be found. “Thanks.”

Simone, meanwhile, had her hands propped on her hips, hair bouncing as she rolled her eyes. “So what did Madam President want with you? Lecture about keeping your shoulders back? Walk with purpose? Don’t trip in heels?”

Tara snorted into her drink. “Probably all of the above. Jenna’s allergic to fun.”

“Hey,” Camille chided gently, though her lips twitched. “She just… takes things seriously.”

“Too seriously,” Simone muttered, but the edge in her voice softened as she nudged Ophie. “So? What’d she actually say?”

Ophie hesitated, her gaze flicking back across the crowd almost involuntarily. She found Caleb again in an instant, his tall frame impossible to miss among the football team. He was laughing, approachable as ever, violet eyes bright under the glow of the string lights.

Her chest tightened.

“I—” she began, forcing her eyes back to the girls. “She just asked how I was doing. Gave me some advice.”

Tara leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “Translation: don’t embarrass us. Classic Jenna.”

Camille giggled softly, shaking her head. Simone groaned dramatically, launching into a story about how Jenna once dragged her away from karaoke night because she was “off-key.” The chatter swirled easily around Ophie, pulling her back into their orbit.

Ophie had no idea how much time had passed. The lights strung over the quad glowed softer now, golden bulbs burning low as the crowd thinned into clusters of laughter and tired chatter. The bass had softened into background hum, the songs slower, looser. A half-empty tray of sliders sat forgotten on the food table, and the punch bowl looked dangerously close to dry.

Somehow, she’d ended up back with Tara, the two of them leaning against the edge of the refreshment table. Tara tipped her cup back and drained the last of it with theatrical flair, then set it down with a flourish.

“One more,” she declared, nudging Ophie with her elbow. “For the road.”

Ophie arched a brow. “So we can stumble home?”

Tara grinned, already ladling more punch into her cup. “So we can have a fun walk home. Big difference.” She handed Ophie a full cup before clinking hers against it. “Cheers, roomie.”

The liquid fizzed faintly as Ophie took a cautious sip. Sweet, fruity, with that telltale burn beneath it that made her stomach flutter. Tara wasn’t wrong—the warmth spread through her chest, loosening the last of her nerves until even the idea of walking home through campus didn’t seem so daunting.

They lingered a moment longer, side by side, watching the glow of the mixer as it wound down around them. The quad was calmer now, less overwhelming. Just students sitting on the grass in small groups, laughing softly, couples dancing lazily under the last songs.

“Alright,” Tara said at last, tossing her empty cup into a trash bin with impressive accuracy. “Let’s go round up the others before Jenna files a missing-persons report on us.”

Ophie laughed, her cup still in hand as Tara looped her arm through hers again, tugging her back into motion. The night air felt cooler now, brushing against her skin as they crossed the quad.

Somewhere in the crowd, she caught sight of Caleb again—tall, violet eyes flashing as he clapped a teammate on the back. She forced herself to look away, heart thudding, and leaned into Tara’s easy warmth instead.

For now, it was enough just to belong.

Tara had Ophie by the wrist again, weaving through the thinning crowd with single-minded determination. “C’mon, I saw Riley heading toward the benches. Simone, Yvonne, and Camille can’t be far either."

Ophie half-laughed, letting herself be tugged along, her cup still in her free hand. She was just trying to keep her footing when her shoulder brushed hard against someone cutting across the same path. The collision jolted her, and liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim of her cup.

“Oh—sorry,” she blurted, the words tumbling out automatically as Tara dragged her forward.
But something in her chest twisted, uneasy. She glanced back over her shoulder, and her breath caught.

Zayne.

He stood tall, broader than she remembered, a quiet pillar in the crowd’s chaos. His black hair was combed back with deliberate precision, though a few strands had slipped loose against his forehead. The warm light from the strings overhead caught the green flecks in his hazel eyes behind the thin silver frames of his glasses. His expression was the same as it had always been—stoic, unreadable—but his gaze was sharp, cutting through the noise like he was weighing, measuring.

The tailored lines of his dark suit jacket made him look every inch the professional he was training to be, though the cuff of his sleeve rode just high enough to show a faint lattice of scars along his hands, pale against his skin. Hands that had always been steady, even back in Snowcrest.

Her steps faltered. The noise of the quad seemed to fade, the voices and music dulling under the pounding of her heartbeat.

It was Zayne.

And she’d just walked right past him.

Ophie wrenched her arm free from Tara’s grip, stopping dead in her tracks. Tara spun back with a frown. “Oph? What—?”

But Ophie wasn’t listening. Her gaze was locked on him, her chest tight and her breath shallow.

Because after all this time, after telling herself she might never see him again, here he was.

Zayne’s eyes stayed on her, steady and sharp, though the faintest crease formed between his brows. For a second, he didn’t move—just studied her with that same stillness he always carried, like he was making sure it was really her.

Then he took a few deliberate steps closer, the crowd shifting around him. His voice, when it came, was low and certain, even though the music still pulsed faintly through the quad.

“Ophiel?”

Her heart jolted at the sound of her name in his voice—deeper now, steadier, but undeniably his. Something in her chest loosened, all the tension and disbelief cracking into something breathless. She let out a short, shaky laugh, nodding.

“Yeah,” she said softly, almost disbelieving herself. “It’s me.”

Before she could second-guess it, before she could even think about how surreal it felt to actually see him here of all places, her body moved on instinct. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

The hug wasn’t planned, wasn’t measured—it just happened. A release of everything knotted in her chest.

For a second, Zayne went still, his hands hovering uncertainly at her sides. Then, slowly, his arms came around her—firm, grounding, careful in a way that made her throat tighten. He smelled faintly of cologne and something clean, sharp, like fresh linen.

Ophie pressed her eyes shut, the noise of the mixer dimming until it was just the thud of her heart and the steady weight of him holding her back.

She pulled back slowly, her hands slipping from his shoulders, though her pulse still hammered as if she hadn’t let go at all. Zayne’s eyes searched her face, sharp even behind the glint of his silver frames. He looked almost exactly as she remembered—and yet older, more carved out, more sure of himself.

“You’re really here,” he said, his tone flat but carrying something beneath it. “At LCU.”

Ophie let out a nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Transfer student life. Didn’t think you’d be the one I’d run into.”

“I could say the same,” Zayne replied, his mouth twitching like it wanted to be a smile but couldn’t quite get there.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, full of everything unsaid. Ophie found herself blurting, “You look… different.”

His brow arched just slightly. “So do you.”

Ophie huffed out another small laugh, shaking her head. “That’s not very specific, you know.”

“Neither was yours,” he countered, and this time, the faintest ghost of a smile touched his mouth.
Behind them, Tara was hovering, wide-eyed and clearly bursting to interrupt. “Wait, wait, wait—you two know each other? Like, actually know each other?”

Ophie glanced at her, then back to Zayne, her chest still tight. “Yeah. We grew up in the same town. Snowcrest.”

“Childhood friends,” Zayne confirmed simply, though his eyes stayed on Ophie like he was cataloguing every change, every detail.

The words settled in the air between them, heavier than they should’ve been. Childhood friends. And yet here they were, standing in the middle of a Linkon City mixer, years of distance collapsing in an instant.

Ophie drew in a steadying breath, forcing herself to loosen her grip on the moment before it swallowed her whole. She lifted her chin, trying for casual even though her heart was still racing.

“Well,” she said, her voice softer than she meant, “I’m in Delta Chi Theta now. So… maybe we’ll be seeing each other more.”

Zayne watched her for another second. Then he gave a single, deliberate nod. “Yeah. Maybe.” His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it she couldn’t quite name.

A small pause. Then, evenly: “It was good to see you, Ophiel.”

Her chest tightened at the sound of her name, the way he said it like no time had passed. She managed a small smile, even as her stomach twisted. “Yeah. You too.”

The words hung there for a moment, fragile and real, before she took a step back. “Goodnight, Zayne.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, his tone steady as ever.

And then, with Tara tugging at her arm again, Ophie turned back toward the direction of the house, the music and chatter of the mixer fading behind her. But her pulse didn’t settle, not even as the night air cooled around her.

The mixer finally thinned into stragglers, the last songs fading into lazy background noise as students drifted off in pairs and clusters. By the time Jenna gathered the girls, the quad was scattered with empty cups and tired laughter.

The seven of them spilled out together into the night, heels clicking, voices carrying down the sidewalk. Tara had Ophie by the arm again, weaving like she was navigating an obstacle course. Yvonne trailed just behind them, barefoot now, her shoes dangling from two fingers as she snorted at every misstep.

“Oh my god, Ophie,” Tara giggled, tugging her close, “you were so stiff at first! I thought you were gonna pass out when Xavier was talking to you."

Riley barked a laugh. “Stiff is probably an understatement. Did she look like a ghost?"

“Not a ghost,” Simone chimed in, her words slurring just slightly as she pointed a dramatic finger skyward. “A star. Our little astronomer got starstruck.” She dissolved into laughter at her own joke.

“Please stop,” Ophie groaned, covering her face with one hand, though she was laughing too, the buzz of the punch finally loosened in her veins.

Yvonne slipped to her other side, looping an arm around her waist to keep her steady as Tara zig-zagged them across the pavement. “Ignore them. You did great tonight. Honestly, better than I did at my first mixer—I threw up behind the catering tent.”

“Yvonne!” Camille gasped, scandalized, though she was smiling. “Too much information.”

Jenna, bringing up the rear, sighed in exasperation, though her lips twitched at the corners. “I cannot take you all anywhere. One event, and you’re already falling apart.”

“Falling apart is the point,” Tara declared, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk before Riley caught her elbow. The pair burst into giggles, leaning into each other for balance.

By the time the sorority house came into view, their laughter was echoing down the quiet street, spilling past hedges and ivy-wrapped lampposts. Ophie’s cheeks ached from smiling, her stomach warm from the punch and the company alike.

The front door of Delta Chi Theta creaked open, and the girls tumbled inside like a wave, their laughter spilling into the foyer louder than the fading music still drifting from campus. Heels clattered to the floor in a heap, Riley’s landing with an especially dramatic kick.

“Sweet freedom,” she groaned, flexing her toes against the hardwood.

“Don’t leave them there,” Jenna barked automatically, though her own heels were already dangling from her hand.

Simone spun in a slow, tipsy circle, arms spread wide. “Our kingdom,” she declared.

“More like the House of Blisters,” Yvonne muttered, already digging a pair of fluffy slippers from the entryway basket.

They dispersed in waves—Tara dragging Ophie upstairs with a singsong “roomies stick together,” Camille drifting quietly behind them. Yvonne and Simone bickered about who got the bathroom first, while Riley plopped herself onto the couch like she was claiming it for the night.

Upstairs, the loudness narrowed into a ritual. Tara collapsed onto her bed, still in her dress, while Ophie carefully set her purse on the desk before fishing through her drawer for pajamas. The house filled with the sound of sinks running, showers humming, and bursts of laughter from down the hall.

Ophie slipped into soft shorts and a tee, tugging her hair free from Camille’s careful pins. When she glanced across the room, Tara was half-asleep already, mumbling something about “best mixer yet.”

She smiled faintly, grabbing a pack of wipes from her bag to scrub away her makeup. By the time she slid under her blanket, the adrenaline of the night had begun to ebb, replaced by a heavy, comforting drowsiness. Her phone buzzed faintly with a message from her sister, Evie, but she set it aside for the morning.

As she lay there, eyes drifting shut, flashes of the night swirled in her head—Xavier’s calm blue gaze, Caleb’s laugh from across the quad, Zayne’s voice saying her name.

Her chest tightened, but she let herself breathe through it, sinking into the warmth of her bed.

 

Chapter 4: Eyes On Her

Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of the sorority house, warm and merciless. Ophie stirred under her blanket, her head thick and her throat dry, until a groan from the hallway pulled her fully awake.

“Never again,” Simone’s voice croaked, followed by the slam of a bathroom door.

Ophie sat up slowly, wincing at the faint pounding behind her temples. Across the room, Tara was sprawled diagonally across her bed, one arm dangling off the side, still in her dress from last night. She groaned, rolled over, and cracked one eye open.

“You alive?” Tara muttered.

“Barely,” Ophie admitted.

“Then you did it right,” Tara said before collapsing face-first into her pillow.

The house was buzzing already—doors opening and closing, showers running, muffled laughter drifting through the hallways. Ophie dragged herself out of bed and padded into the common area where she found Riley sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bag of chips, her hair a wild mess, eyeliner smudged halfway down her cheeks.

“Breakfast of champions,” Riley said, popping another chip into her mouth. “Want some?”

Ophie blinked at her. “At—what time is it?”

“Too early,” Riley deadpanned, then grinned. “You’re officially one of us now. Survive a mixer, and you’re in the club.”

Before Ophie could answer, Yvonne appeared from the kitchen, wielding a frying pan like a weapon. “Anyone who doesn’t help clean up today is on dish duty for a week.”

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” Simone groaned from the stairwell, her hair still dripping from the shower.

“It’s justice,” Yvonne shot back.

Camille trailed in behind them with two mugs of tea, pressing one gently into Ophie’s hands. “Here. It helps.”

The warmth of it seeped through her palms, and Ophie smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

Jenna finally swept in, immaculate as ever despite the faint shadows under her eyes. She surveyed the room like a general counting her troops. “Good. You’re all awake. Debrief in ten. We’ll go over what worked and what didn’t.”

A collective groan rose from the girls.

“Jenna, please,” Tara moaned from the couch where she’d just collapsed again. “It’s Saturday.”

“And?” Jenna arched a brow. “We don’t slack just because it’s the weekend. Our reputation doesn’t build itself.”

Riley threw a chip at her. Jenna didn’t even flinch.
Ophie sipped her tea, half-smiling into the rim of the mug as the chaos rolled on around her. 

Exactly ten minutes later, Jenna set her notepad down with a crisp snap, pen poised. “First impressions: overall, the mixer was a success. Attendance exceeded expectations, the setup was praised, and no one set the quad on fire this year—” her gaze flicked pointedly at Tara, who threw up her hands.

“That was one time,” Tara muttered.

“—so, progress,” Jenna finished dryly.

A ripple of snickers went around the table. Jenna didn’t smile, but her eyes gleamed briefly before she moved on. “That said, there were issues. The punch ran low faster than it should have—Camille, make a note, we’ll need an extra bowl next time. Yvonne, your station management was solid, but cleanup lagged once the crowd thinned. And Riley—”

Riley straightened with mock severity, crumbs on her notebook. “Yes, Madam President?”

“Do not—ever—heckle the DJ again,” Jenna said flatly.

Riley gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “That wasn’t heckling! That was constructive criticism!”

“You booed him.”

“He deserved it!”

The table dissolved into laughter, even Camille muffling a giggle behind her tea. Jenna let it ride for a moment before clicking her pen again. “Alright. Enough from me. Let’s hear from you. What worked? What didn’t?”

Simone raised her hand halfway, smirking. “Worked: Tara’s fearless networking. Didn’t work: Tara spilling punch all over herself.”

Tara gasped. “That was one spill! And Ophie’s the one who bumped into—” she stopped herself abruptly, eyes flicking to Ophie with a sheepish grin. “Uh. Someone. At some point.”

Ophie’s cheeks warmed, and she busied herself with her pen.

Camille spoke next, her voice gentle. “I thought the decorations turned out beautifully. The fairy lights really made the quad feel welcoming. But maybe we need more volunteers to manage food stations. It was overwhelming at times.”

Yvonne nodded. “Agreed. Next time, staggered shifts.”

Jenna’s gaze slid to Ophie then, sharp but not unkind. “And you? First impressions.”

Every eye turned to her. Ophie sat a little straighter, heart picking up as she searched for words.

“I thought…” She hesitated, then found her footing. “It was… a lot. But good. The setup made people comfortable, and the energy was high the whole time. I guess the only thing I’d suggest is—maybe a quiet corner? Somewhere people can step away when it gets overwhelming.”

The table went quiet for a moment.

Then Jenna tapped her pen thoughtfully. “Interesting. That’s actually a good note. Camille, write that down.”

Camille did, her cheeks pink with the sudden responsibility.

Tara leaned over and whispered loudly, “Look at you, newbie. Already contributing.”

Ophie flushed, but for the first time, she didn’t feel out of place.

The scrape of pens on paper filled the silence until Riley suddenly leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You know what didn’t work? The boys.”

That earned a chorus of groans, Tara the loudest. “Ugh, don’t even get me started.”

“They didn’t lift a finger,” Simone said, slamming her notebook shut for emphasis. “We socialized, we served, we cleaned. What were they doing? Standing around looking pretty.”

“Correction,” Riley said, smirking. “Some of them weren’t even doing that.”

Yvonne arched a brow. “Name names.”

“Oh, gladly,” Riley fired back. She ticked them off on her fingers. “Sylus? Didn’t move once. Just stood there in his perfect shirt, lurking in corners like some kind of gargoyle. Luke and Kieran? Useless—two puppies trailing after him like he’s the messiah. Jeremiah? Too busy socializing to carry a single damn chair.”

Tara cut in, rolling her eyes. “Don’t forget Gideon. Spent the whole night talking football stats instead of helping break down tables.”

“And Rafayel?” Riley threw her hands up dramatically. “Gone. Completely vanished."

Camille, sipping her tea, nodded. “Thomas too. He just kept pacing with his clipboard and didn’t actually… do anything.”

“They never do,” Jenna muttered, jotting something down.

“Exactly,” Simone said. “Meanwhile, who did help? Barely anyone.”

“Xavier,” Camille offered quietly. “He carried crates. And Zayne helped the food vendors unload.”

Yvonne nodded. “Greyson too, actually. I saw him running cables for the lights.”

“And Caleb,” Tara admitted reluctantly. “Okay, he was everywhere—checking on people, talking to the alumni, even helping clean up a few tables at the end.”

“Of course Caleb helped,” Riley muttered with mock bitterness. “Golden boy. Can’t fault him for being Mr. Perfect.”

Tara smirked, propping her chin in her hand. “Jealous?”

“Of him?” Riley scoffed. “Please. I just don’t like how his perfection makes the rest of them think they can slack off.”

The table buzzed with overlapping chatter again—some teasing, some griping, Jenna’s pen tapping louder until it cut through the noise. “Enough. Point taken. Next time, they pull their weight.”

Her tone brokered no argument, but Ophie sat quietly, her stomach knotting faintly at the names that swirled around the table. Caleb. Zayne. Xavier. She’d seen them last night—felt them like sparks in her chest—and now, hearing the girls weigh their worth, it only sharpened the feeling that she’d stepped into something she couldn’t walk back from.

Of course, the complaints about the boys didn’t stay organized for long. The second Jenna’s pen stilled, Tara leaned forward with a grin that was all teeth. “Okay, but can we talk about how every girl there was practically climbing over each other to get Caleb’s attention?”

Yvonne groaned. “It was embarrassing. Half of Xi Beta was lined up like they were auditioning for him.”

“Don’t blame them,” Riley said, shrugging. “He’s got that whole approachable golden-boy thing down. The smile, the purple eyes, the whole president package. You can’t teach that.”

“Still doesn’t mean they have to throw themselves at him like confetti,” Simone shot back, rolling her eyes.

“Meanwhile,” Tara cut in, lowering her voice with faux drama, “Sylus was busy undressing every girl in the quad with his eyes.”

Camille made a face. “I noticed that too.”

“Everyone noticed,” Riley muttered darkly. "Creep."

Yvonne, practical as ever, held up her mug. “To be fair, Sylus doesn’t do subtle. He looks at everyone like he’s dissecting them.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he should dissect a trash bag and help clean up,” Tara quipped, earning a round of laughter.

The wave of cackles hadn’t even died down before Riley smirked at Ophie, her eyes glinting. “And speaking of eyes—our dear Xavier. Tell me, Ophie, did you manage to make him blink last night?”

Heat crept up Ophie’s neck instantly. “What—no, I—”

“Oh, come on,” Simone sang, leaning over the table. “We all saw it. He doesn’t usually say more than three words at mixers, but suddenly with you? Full sentences. Practically sparkling.”

“He doesn’t sparkle,” Ophie protested, laughing despite herself.

“He sparkled,” Riley insisted, pointing a chip at her. “For you. That’s new.”

Ophie buried her face in her hands as Tara beamed. “I told you! Star-crossed nerds. It’s perfect.”

Before Ophie could argue further, Yvonne cut in smoothly, “Let’s not forget Jeremiah. Was he trashed, or was he trashed?”

The whole table groaned in agreement.

“God, he was slurring halfway through the night,” Simone said.

“And trying to dance,” Riley added, gagging dramatically. “I still have secondhand embarrassment.”

“Jenna almost sent him home,” Camille said softly, eyes wide.

“I should have,” Jenna muttered, scribbling something down. “Delta Psi owes us an apology for that one.”

The chatter swirled louder, names and laughter bouncing off the oak table. Ophie tried to hide behind her tea, but she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

The laughter still echoed around the table when Jenna finally snapped her pen closed with a decisive click. The sound cut through the chatter like a gavel.

“Alright, enough,” she said firmly, her gaze sweeping over them all. “Fun’s over. You all know classes start Monday, which means no more dragging your feet. I expect every single one of you to be sharp and prepared. Supplies, schedules, assignments—you’re representing Delta Chi Theta the second you step onto campus.”

Tara groaned, slumping against the back of her chair. “Buzzkill.”

“It's a reality check,” Jenna corrected smoothly. She tapped her notepad once, then added, “And remember, the week after, we’re volunteering with the robotics club. Full week commitment. They need hands for the exhibition build, and I already told them we’d help.”

Simone’s head shot up. “Wait, we? As in all of us?”

“Yes.”

Riley flopped against the table dramatically. “I’m a welder, not a robot mechanic!”

“You’ll manage,” Jenna said flatly.

“Manage?” Riley threw her hands up. “I’ll be electrocuted by day two.”

Yvonne pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’ll be fine, Riley. It’s assembling, not rocket science.”

“Still sounds like rocket science,” Tara muttered under her breath.

Camille, meanwhile, perked up. “Actually… it could be fun. I’ve always wanted to learn how they wire their circuits.”

Jenna’s gaze softened just slightly. “That’s the spirit. The rest of you—try to match it.”

Groans and complaints rolled around the table, but no one challenged her. Jenna had spoken, and when Jenna spoke, it stuck.

Ophie scribbled “Robotics Club – Week 2” into her notebook, her pen tapping against the page as she tried to ignore the faint buzz in her chest. Between classes starting, Caleb, Zayne, and now the idea of volunteering for robots, her head was spinning already.

By Sunday afternoon, the mixer felt like a blur, fading into the quiet rhythm of the sorority house. Most of the girls had collapsed into lazy routines—Riley tinkering with something metal in the garage, Camille watering her forest of plants in her room, Jenna buried in readings already.

Upstairs, Ophie sat cross-legged on her bed with her notebook balanced on her lap, flipping carefully through the neat columns she’d written out. Her handwriting filled the page with classroom numbers, notes about walking time, and tiny arrows pointing from building to building. Behind her, Tara sat perched with a hairbrush in hand, dragging it through Ophie’s wet strands with patient strokes.

“You are so organized,” Tara said, shaking her head. “If I had a schedule that detailed, I’d probably lose it by day two.”

“It’s not that detailed,” Ophie murmured, tapping her pen against the margin. “It just helps me keep track of where I’m going and who I’ll see.”

Her eyes ran down the lists again. Monday morning: Astronomy, Physics, Math. And the little notes she’d added to each:

• Astronomy — 9:00 AM, Building C — no one from the sorority.
• Physics — 11:00 AM, Hall B — same as Simone.
• Math — 2:00 PM, Hall D — same as Jenna.

The realization that she’d at least have familiar faces for some of the harder classes settled her nerves. She flipped the page to Tuesday:

• Engineering — 10:00 AM, with Simone and Riley.
• Computer Science — 1:00 PM, same as Simone.

Her chest loosened a little. “It looks like I’ll have Simone in three of my classes. Riley in one. And Jenna in math.”

“Lucky you,” Tara teased, tugging the brush gently through a knot. “Simone will keep you from getting lost, and Riley will… well. Riley will keep you entertained.”

Ophie laughed softly. “What about you?”

“Criminology, all the way,” Tara said proudly, rattling off her list. “Sociology, psychology, poli-sci, forensics—basically if it sounds like a cop show, I’m in it. But nope, not a single overlap with you.”

“That’s too bad.” Ophie scribbled a little frowny face in the corner of her page.

Tara smirked, leaning around to look at it. “Aw. Don’t pout. We’ll still have nights like this.” She gave the brush a dramatic flourish through Ophie’s hair. “Besides, we live together. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Ophie rolled her eyes, but her lips curved into a smile as she carefully tucked the notebook against her pillow. Seeing the schedule written out, color-coded with names of the girls she’d grown so close to already, steadied something in her chest.

Classes were starting tomorrow.

And maybe—just maybe—she was ready.

Tara hummed to herself as the brush slid through another long section of Ophie’s hair, the quiet rhythm almost lulling. “You know,” she said after a beat, “you won’t be completely alone tomorrow.”

Ophie tilted her head slightly, notebook still in her lap. “What do you mean?”

“Astronomy,” Tara replied. “Xavier? Duh. If your schedules lined up the way I think they did, he’ll be in at least one of your lectures.”

Ophie blinked, her stomach giving an odd little flip. “Oh.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Tara teased, tugging gently at a tangle before smoothing it free. “He’ll probably be asleep half the time. I’m serious—he’s famous for it. Class, meetings, even one of our fundraisers last year. Head down on the table, out cold. The guy could nap through the apocalypse.”

Despite herself, Ophie laughed, the sound muffled against her notebook. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

Tara grinned, resting her chin briefly on Ophie’s shoulder. “Promising or not, you won’t be stuck wandering the stars by yourself. And hey—at least if you get bored, you’ll have front-row seats to his snoring.”

“Great,” Ophie muttered, though her smile lingered as Tara pulled the brush gently through the last section of her hair.

For a moment, the Sunday evening felt quiet, almost peaceful. Tomorrow was looming, but with Tara behind her and the girls just down the hall, Ophie didn’t feel quite as alone facing it.

Ophie ran her fingers along the last page of her notebook before snapping it shut with a soft thunk. She exhaled, long and heavy, letting the weight of her scribbles—classrooms, times, names—sink in. Tomorrow was coming whether she was ready or not.

“Alright,” she murmured, setting the notebook on her desk. “That’s enough obsessing for tonight.”

Tara gave a satisfied hum, finally setting the brush aside. “Good girl. Now, pajamas.”

They moved in easy rhythm—Tara pulling a loose tee over her head, Ophie folding her clothes from earlier and swapping into a pair of shorts and a soft tank. The house had gone quieter now, footsteps muted in the hall, laughter from downstairs fading as everyone peeled off toward their rooms.

As Ophie tugged her blanket back, a knock came on the doorframe. Simone leaned in, hair braided back and glasses perched low on her nose, already dressed in flannel sleep pants.

“Night, girls,” she said with a sleepy smile.

“Night, Simone,” Tara called back. Ophie echoed it, warm despite her nerves.

Once the door clicked shut again, Tara flopped onto her own bed, turning on her side to face Ophie. The glow from the lamp painted her grin soft and lopsided.

“Okay, listen.” Her voice gentled. “You’re gonna be fine tomorrow.”

Ophie looked at her, one hand fidgeting with the edge of her blanket. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Tara propped her head up on her hand. “You’ve got Simone and Riley in a bunch of your classes, Jenna in one, and maybe even Xavier if the stars align—pun totally intended.” Ophie groaned, but Tara pushed on, her smile softening. “And even if you didn’t, you’d still be fine. You’re smart, you’re tougher than you look, and you’ve already survived a mixer. If you can do that? You can survive anything.”

The tightness in Ophie’s chest eased just a little. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” Tara flopped back against her pillows, her grin widening. “Besides, you’ve got me. Roommates are like built-in lifelines. I’m not letting you sink, Ophie.”

Ophie smiled faintly, the words settling warm in her chest as she curled beneath her blanket. Now, the thought of Monday didn’t feel so overwhelming.

But next morning came too soon.

Ophie startled awake to the shrill beep of Tara’s alarm, cutting sharp through the quiet. She groaned, burying her face in the pillow, but Tara was already half-sitting up, hair sticking out in every direction.

“Rise and suffer,” Tara mumbled, smacking at her phone until the alarm finally died.

Ophie squinted toward the window. The sun was barely up, streaks of pale gold spilling across the ivy outside. The house was still mostly quiet—only the faint rush of a shower somewhere down the hall and the creak of floorboards as someone moved toward the kitchen.

“You’re way too chipper for this hour,” Ophie muttered, pushing herself upright.

“Chipper?” Tara barked a laugh, hair wild around her face. “Girl, I look like a crow that lost a fight with a power line. But—” she yawned, stretching her arms wide, “—it’s the first day of classes. Gotta fake enthusiasm until it’s real.”

Ophie slid out of bed, feet hitting the cool wood floor. Her stomach tightened—nerves, excitement, the same flutter she’d felt flipping through her notebook last night. Today wasn’t just the first day of classes. Today was the start of everything.

Tara padded over to their closet, rifling through hangers while humming off-key. “What’s the vibe, roomie? Casual-cute? I-actually-tried? Or please-don’t-look-at-me?”

Ophie gave her a dry look, running a brush quickly through her hair. “Something in between?”

“Smart choice,” Tara said, tugging free a denim jacket and tossing it onto her bed. “You don’t want to give off too much effort on day one. Professors can smell desperation.”

Ophie snorted, shaking her head as she moved toward her desk where her notebook, carefully laid out schedule, and freshly sharpened pencils waited.

Today was going to be long. And she was going to need every ounce of composure she could find.

By the time Ophie pulled on her jeans and sweater, the house was awake in full force. The once-quiet halls buzzed with footsteps, voices, and the sound of hairdryers competing with the kettle’s whistle.

Tara tugged her hair into a messy half-ponytail while hopping into one boot. “Bathroom’s free for, like, two minutes if you sprint.”

“Go!” Riley called from down the hall, already standing in the doorway with a toothbrush dangling from her mouth and her boots half-laced.

Ophie ducked past her, slipping into the steamy bathroom just in time to see Yvonne tying her hair into a sleek bun. “First day, and I already feel behind,” Yvonne muttered, checking her watch before rushing out with a travel mug in hand.

Camille shuffled in next, brush in hand. She smiled softly at Ophie. “Good luck today,” she said quietly while she brushed her hair.

By the time Ophie returned to her room, Tara was sprawled on her bed, flipping through her criminology syllabus like it was light reading. “You ready?” she asked without looking up.

“Not even close,” Ophie admitted, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Downstairs, the kitchen was a frenzy. Jenna stood at the counter, immaculate as ever in a cream blouse and blazer, reading from a printout between sips of coffee. “Remember, ladies—first impressions matter. Professors notice who’s on time, who’s prepared, and who looks like they rolled out of bed.”

“That would be me,” Simone announced, stomping in wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her binder clutched under one arm.

Riley, tying her hair back with a pencil, snorted. “At least you’re dressed. Half my welding class will probably show up in pajamas.”

Camille handed Ophie a thermos of tea as the group gathered their things, voices overlapping as they compared schedules and walking times.

“Library at four?” Yvonne called as she slipped out the door.

“Yeah, unless I'm dead by then,” Simone shot back, earning a laugh.

It was loud and messy, but as Ophie followed the stream of her sisters out onto the sunlit campus path, she felt steadier than she had the night before.

The morning air was brisk, cool enough to wake her fully as Ophie stepped out onto the sidewalk with her bag slung over one shoulder and her notebook clutched in hand. The sun cut through the ivy-clad buildings, throwing golden light across the green lawns and brick paths already buzzing with students.

Everywhere she looked, campus was alive—clusters of freshmen comparing maps, upperclassmen waving to each other across the quad, professors striding past with coffee cups and briefcases. Someone jogging by called, “Morning!” and Ophie, startled, managed a quick, “Morning,” back.

Another wave came from a girl carrying a stack of textbooks. A passing guy with earbuds gave her a nod. Ophie returned each small greeting, her cheeks warming as she flipped her notebook open between steps, scanning her careful notes again.

Building C, Room 204. Astronomy. 9:00.

She traced the line with her finger, then checked the margin note she’d written: Ten-minute walk from the house.

Her shoes clicked on the brick as she crossed into the science wing, the smell of coffee and paper growing stronger the closer she got. Her stomach fluttered, a nervous mix of anticipation and dread. This was it—the start of everything she’d written and rewritten in her notebook, the schedule she’d pored over until her eyes blurred.

Finally, she found the doorway. The plaque beside it read ASTRONOMY — ROOM 204

Her breath hitched. Ophie adjusted the strap of her bag, smoothed her sweater, and stepped inside.

The lecture hall was hushed when Ophie slipped through the door, the kind of stillness that clung to early mornings. A handful of students dotted the rows, some slumped low in their seats, arms crossed, already half-asleep. Others nursed coffees, staring blankly at glowing laptop screens like they were willing themselves awake.

A couple of heads lifted at her entrance, eyes flicking over her before returning to their notebooks or phones. The quiet weight of those glances pressed on her chest until she forced herself to breathe and keep moving.

Her shoes thudded softly on the steps as she climbed toward the back, her gaze snagging on the long windows lining one wall. The glass framed the morning sky, pale blue fading into streaks of white cloud—familiar, steady, almost comforting.

She chose a seat near the window, sliding into it with relief. Her bag landed with a muted thump against the floor, and she set her notebook down neatly on the desk in front of her. The familiar scribbles of her schedule stared back at her, grounding her as she pulled her laptop from her bag and flipped it open.

Ophie’s fingers hovered over her keyboard, but she hadn’t typed a single word. Instead, her gaze drifted out the window beside her.

Birds dipped and swooped across the brightening sky, catching currents of air with effortless grace. Below, students crossed the walkways in pairs and clusters, some moving with purpose, others dawdling as if reluctant to face their first class. A couple laughed over steaming cups of coffee; another walked fast with headphones pressed tight to his ears. The rhythm of it all—life flowing past while she sat waiting—lulled her into a strange, suspended calm.

The lecture hall gradually filled, the shuffle of feet and murmur of voices breaking the quiet. Backpacks thudded against desks, laptops clicked open, the faint scent of coffee and perfume layered over the stale chill of the air conditioning.

Still, Ophie kept staring out the window, her thoughts sliding somewhere between Snowcrest rooftops and Linkon City sidewalks.

“—You’re in my seat.”

The voice came low and even, close enough to make her jump. Her hand flew instinctively to her notebook, her chair scraping faintly against the floor as she twisted to look.

Her breath caught when her eyes landed on him.
Xavier stood there, framed by the glow from the tall windows, his silver hair catching the light so it almost glowed against the sharp lines of his fair skin. His blue eyes—clear, steady, unreadable—were fixed on her with a patience that felt oddly intimidating in the quiet of the room.

“You’re in my seat,” he repeated, tone flat but not unkind, like it was simply a fact.

For a heartbeat, Ophie just blinked at him, her pulse tripping over itself. Of course it would be him. Tara had warned her he’d be here. And now, on her very first day, she’d managed to claim his spot.

“I—I didn’t know,” she stammered, shifting slightly in her chair. “Sorry, I can move—”

He blinked once, slow. “Don’t.”

The single word landed heavier than it should have. He dropped his bag onto the floor beside the desk with a muted thud and slid into the chair next to hers, moving with the unhurried precision of someone who had no doubts about where he belonged.

Ophie’s throat went dry. She glanced down at her laptop, then back at the window, her heart hammering.

Of all the places she could’ve sat.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the shuffle of students settling in and the distant squawk of a bird outside. Ophie tried to focus on the cursor blinking in the corner of her laptop screen, but the weight of Xavier’s presence beside her was impossible to ignore.

Then, without turning his head, his voice cut through the quiet.

“You like the window seat too?”

Ophie startled slightly, her eyes snapping toward him. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded neatly across his chest, gaze fixed straight ahead like the question had been more of an observation.

“I—yeah,” she said after a second, forcing her voice steady. “I like… being able to see the sky. Helps me think.”

Xavier’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close. “Same.”

He shifted then, finally glancing at her, his blue eyes calm and unreadable. “You’re Ophiel. From Delta Chi Theta.”

It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway. “That’s me.”

He nodded once, as though confirming something for himself, then set his pen against the paper. “Good. I remember names.”

Ophie opened her mouth to say something—she wasn’t sure what—but Xavier had already shifted his focus back to his notebook, pen poised with deliberate patience. His posture was relaxed, almost languid, like he’d melted into the seat, yet there was an alertness to him, a stillness that said he was listening even when he wasn’t looking.

Taking the hint, Ophie pressed her lips together and turned toward the front, the quiet settling between them.

Moments later, the heavy door swung shut behind a tall man in a tweed jacket, his briefcase clutched in one hand and a stack of thick binders in the other. The soft murmur of the hall dimmed instantly, students straightening as the professor strode to the front, setting his things on the lectern with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times.

The lights overhead dimmed just slightly as he clicked on the projector. A star field bloomed against the wide whiteboard at the front—brilliant pinpricks of light scattered across the dark canvas, sharp and endless.

Pens scratched across paper. Laptop keys clicked faintly. The low rumble of the professor’s voice filled the room, steady and deliberate, laying out the basics of the semester: the syllabus, expectations, the sweep of what they’d be exploring—celestial mechanics, galactic structures, stellar evolution.

Ophie’s pulse settled as she typed notes, her eyes occasionally flicking to the stars glowing faintly on the projection screen. Around her, students sank into their roles—some scribbling furiously, some already glassy-eyed and slouched low. The faint scrape of someone’s chair mixed with the drone of the air vent overhead.

Beside her, Xavier sat perfectly still, arms folded loosely now, gaze fixed forward. Whether he was absorbing every word or simply existing in silence, she couldn’t tell.

Time stretched. The rhythm of academia pressed in, familiar and new all at once.

By the time the professor closed the binder with a sharp clap, the first lecture had slipped by like a tide—steady, inevitable, carrying Ophie deeper into this new life she’d stepped into.

The scrape of chairs echoed through the lecture hall as the professor dismissed them, the overhead lights humming back to full brightness. Students stretched, yawned, and shuffled into the aisles, the rustle of backpacks zipping open and notebooks snapping shut filling the space.

Ophie slid her laptop back into her bag, fingers fumbling with the zipper as she tried not to notice how close Xavier’s movements were beside her. He moved with the same unhurried precision as before, tucking his notebook neatly into his bag, every action deliberate, unbothered by the rush of students crowding the stairs.

“You type fast,” Xavier said suddenly, his voice low and calm as ever.

Ophie blinked, startled again, before glancing at him. “Uh—yeah. Habit, I guess.” She gave a small shrug, slipping her pen into the spiral of her notebook. “Helps me keep up.”

He nodded once, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Efficient.”

For a second, she wasn’t sure if that was meant as a compliment or just another observation—but his gaze lingered on her moment longer than necessary before sliding back toward the aisle.

They fell into step together as they headed down the stairs. Students jostled past, the hum of voices growing louder as the doors opened to the bright corridor outside. Ophie hugged her notebook close, her pulse still unsteady from the quiet weight of his attention.

“See you later,” Xavier said as they stepped into the hall, his tone as steady as if they’d been doing this for years.

Ophie’s throat tightened, but she managed a small smile. “Yeah. See you.”

And then, just like that, he melted into the crowd, his silver hair disappearing among the sea of students.

By the time Ophie found her way to Hall B, her nerves were buzzing all over again. The corridors were louder here—students crammed shoulder to shoulder, voices overlapping as they compared schedules or hunted for the right door. She clutched her notebook tighter, scanning each plaque until finally, there it was: PHYSICS — ROOM 112.

Her stomach twisted as she pushed the door open.

The classroom was already half-full, students sliding into rows, shuffling papers, adjusting laptops. For a minute, Ophie froze in the doorway, that same uneasy weight settling over her as it had in Astronomy.

Then she saw her.

Simone sat halfway up on the right side, her dark curls tied back, binder already open, a mechanical pencil tapping impatiently against the margin. She looked up, spotted Ophie instantly, and broke into a grin.

Ophie exhaled in relief, her shoulders slumping as she hurried over. “Thank god,” she muttered, sliding into the empty seat beside her.

Simone laughed under her breath. “What, already drowning on day one?”

“Something like that,” Ophie admitted, setting her bag down with a soft thud.

Simone pushed her binder toward her, the corner smudged with graphite and doodles. “Relax. We’ll survive. Besides, you’re stuck with me in this class. I don’t let my friends fail.”

Ophie smiled faintly, her chest loosening at the casual certainty in Simone’s tone. For the first time that morning, she felt steady—like she wasn’t bracing for impact anymore.

Simone leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms overhead until her spine popped. “So? How was your first class? Astronomy, right?”

Ophie hesitated, fiddling with the edge of her notebook. “Yeah. It was… good. Quiet.”

“Quiet?” Simone arched a brow. “That’s a strange way to describe a lecture hall full of students.”

Ophie bit back a smile. “Okay, maybe not quiet. Just… different. I sat by the window.”

Simone smirked knowingly. “Of course you did. Our little stargazer.”

Ophie rolled her eyes, but the heat rising in her cheeks had nothing to do with the window view.
Before she could answer, the low buzz of conversation in the room shifted. Heads turned subtly toward the door as two figures stepped inside.

Xavier, silver hair catching the fluorescent light, moved with his usual calm precision, his gaze flicking once across the room before settling on an open seat a few rows down. He carried no urgency, no need to claim attention—yet somehow, people noticed him anyway.

Beside him was Caleb.

Ophie’s breath snagged in her throat.

Caleb walked in like the room belonged to him, dark hair falling just right, violet eyes bright with that easy warmth that drew people in. His stride was relaxed but sure, the kind of confidence that wasn’t forced but lived-in. A few girls near the front giggled, one whispering to her friend as he passed, and Caleb flashed a polite smile that only made their whispers louder.

Ophie froze in her seat, pulse thudding so loud she was sure Simone could hear it.

Simone leaned in, muttering under her breath, “And here comes the circus.”

Ophie managed a weak laugh, her fingers tightening around her pen.

Xavier peeled off toward a seat near the front, sliding into it with the same quiet composure as before. Caleb followed, settling two rows over with a couple of teammates already waving him down. He laughed at something one of them said, his easy voice carrying faintly across the lecture hall.

Ophie’s chest tightened.

He hadn’t even looked at her.

Her pen hovered uselessly above the page, her notebook still blank. Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. A few years was a long time, and college had shaped them both in ways Snowcrest never could. His jaw was sharper now, his shoulders broader, the boy she’d known transformed into someone more polished, more magnetic.

But no—those violet eyes. She would’ve known them anywhere. And if she could recognize him across a crowded mixer, then surely he had to know her too.

Unless… he just didn’t want to.

Her stomach twisted. He hadn’t left Snowcrest on bad terms with her—they hadn’t fought, hadn’t fallen out. They’d simply drifted. Different paths, different ambitions. But the silence of the last few years hung heavy now, pressing against her ribs as she watched him laugh with someone else.

He has to recognize me, she thought fiercely. He has to.

And yet… she hadn’t exactly gone up to him either. She’d frozen at the mixer, frozen again now. Maybe he was waiting for her. Or maybe he wasn’t waiting at all.

Ophie forced herself to inhale, then exhale.
Not now. Not here. Physics was hard enough without Caleb knotting up her head.

She straightened her notebook, fixed her gaze on the front of the room where the professor was arranging his notes, and gripped her pen tight.

Focus.

The lecture began with the soft click of the professor’s laptop and the glow of equations projected onto the whiteboard. His voice carried steady and deliberate, laying out the basics of motion and forces, the familiar ground before the course would climb into harder territory.

Ophie kept her pen moving, scribbling notes as quickly as she could manage. Focus, she reminded herself. Stay focused.

But her mind kept slipping.

At one point, Simone leaned over and whispered, “Bet we’ll get buried in problem sets by next week,” rolling her eyes. Ophie smiled faintly, jotting down another formula, though her ears picked up something else at the same time—Caleb’s laugh, warm and easy, carrying across the room. The sound was like a hook in her chest, tugging at her memory before she shoved it back down.

Later, when the professor asked a question to the room, a calm, clipped voice answered without hesitation. Xavier. Ophie’s eyes flicked up before she could stop herself, catching sight of him seated near the front, posture straight, gaze fixed on the board. He didn’t look back at her, of course—why would he?—but just the sound of his voice was enough to tilt her focus sideways.

Still, she forced herself to write. Line after line of notes filled her page, her handwriting tighter than usual as she wrestled her attention back to the equations.

By the time the professor closed his folder with a definitive snap, Ophie’s shoulders ached from tension. Chairs screeched against the floor, backpacks thudded against desks, and voices rose as students spilled toward the aisles.

She sat for a moment longer, letting out a quiet breath, the chatter of Caleb’s teammates and the low murmur of Xavier’s voice brushing past her as both of them slipped into the current of students leaving the room.

Physics was over. For better or worse, she’d survived it.

The crowd of students funneled into the hall, voices bouncing off the tile and lockers. Ophie slung her bag over her shoulder, trying to keep her eyes on the floor, when Simone suddenly perked up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Golden Boy himself,” Simone called, her voice carrying easily above the noise.

Ophie’s head snapped up. Caleb had just stepped into the hallway a few paces ahead, his teammates still talking beside him. At Simone’s words, he turned, that familiar grin lighting his face like it belonged there.

“Simone,” he said warmly, slowing his stride. “Still terrorizing professors with too many questions?”

Simone gasped dramatically. “Excuse you. Maybe, you should try it sometime instead of coasting on your perfect jawline and fan clubs.”

Caleb laughed, the sound deep and easy, violet eyes gleaming with amusement. “Guess somebody has to keep the curve interesting.”

“You’re annoying,” Simone shot back, but her lips twitched into a smile as she adjusted the strap of her binder. “Don’t think your pretty-boy act works on me.”

“Didn’t know I was trying,” Caleb teased, brushing a hand through his dark hair pretending to be innocent. 

Simone narrowed her eyes at him, though the smile tugging at her mouth gave her away. “Please. You’ve got half the campus wrapped around your finger. I’m immune.”

Caleb smirked, leaning lazily against the wall like he had all the time in the world. “Immune? That’s a bold claim. I’ve seen the way you steal glances at practice.”

Simone barked a laugh, shoving her binder against his arm. “In your dreams, quarterback.”

“Wide receiver,” he corrected smoothly, violet eyes glinting. “Get it right.”

“Whatever. Football boy.”

Their banter ricocheted back and forth, the flow effortless. Students passing by craned their necks, some grinning at the show. Ophie, though, felt her chest tighten with every word, every laugh. She couldn’t breathe past the knot rising in her throat.

She clutched her notebook tighter and finally cut in, forcing her voice steady. “Simone—I’ve got to catch my next class.”

Simone blinked, then glanced at her watch. “Oh, shit. Right. You’re on a tight schedule. Good luck, Ophie. Knock ‘em dead.”

“Thanks.” Ophie managed a faint smile before shifting past, weaving into the stream of students. She didn’t let herself look directly at Caleb, but she felt it—the weight of his gaze tracking her as she moved down the hall.

Her pulse spiked. She quickened her pace until the crowd swallowed her, the sound of Simone and Caleb’s voices fading behind her.

Back at the wall, Simone followed Caleb’s gaze, then rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, adjusting her binder and striding off in the opposite direction.

Caleb’s grin lingered, thoughtful now, his violet eyes still fixed on the spot where Ophie had disappeared.

The walk across campus to her next class felt longer than it was. Ophie’s thoughts kept chasing themselves in circles—Xavier’s quiet steadiness, Caleb’s laugh echoing down the hall. Too much, too fast. She hugged her notebook tighter, eyes fixed on the steady stream of students funneling into another set of tall brick buildings.

Mathematics — Hall D, Room 307.

She found the plaque and slipped inside, the familiar flutter of nerves kicking up again. The classroom was smaller than her lecture halls earlier, tiered rows of seats filling slowly as students filed in, setting out notebooks and laptops.

No familiar faces.

Ophie let out a slow breath and chose a spot halfway up, close enough to see but far enough to feel hidden. She laid her bag at her feet, flipping open her notebook and tapping her pen against the blank page, trying to steady herself.

The door opened again, and in walked Jenna.

Her blazer was sharp, her hair smoothed back into a sleek bun, every inch of her as composed as she’d been at the sorority table. She scanned the room once, her sharp eyes landing on Ophie almost instantly. A faint smile tugged at her mouth as she adjusted her folder against her hip.

“Here,” Jenna said, her voice cutting through the low buzz of chatter as she gestured toward an open seat beside her near the front. “Sit with me.”

Relief bloomed in Ophie’s chest. She gathered her things quickly, careful not to knock anything over as she moved through the rows.

Sliding into the seat beside Jenna, she managed a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Best seat in the house,” Jenna remarked as Ophie sat, her pen already aligned perfectly with the edge of her notebook. “Front row without being dead center. Professors notice, but you’re not a target.”

Ophie chuckled weakly, unpacking her laptop and notebook again. “Good to know.”

Jenna smoothed a page of her syllabus, then glanced sideways. “How have your classes gone so far?”

Ophie hesitated, thinking of astronomy, of Caleb laughing with Simone. She swallowed, keeping her tone vague. “Good. Different from Snowcrest, but good.”

“Good is good,” Jenna said simply, though her sharp eyes lingered a beat longer, as if she knew there was more beneath Ophie’s clipped answer. Then she turned her attention forward, posture straight as a board.

Ophie pulled her laptop close, fingers brushing the keyboard—

and then froze.

Because the door opened again.

Xavier walked in first, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his expression the same unreadable calm as always. Caleb trailed behind him, tall and magnetic, those violet eyes scanning the rows as voices buzzed faintly louder at their entrance.

Ophie’s stomach plummeted. She nearly let her forehead drop straight to the desk but caught herself at the last second, pressing her lips into a tight line. Of course they’d both be here—again.

Still, when Xavier’s gaze swept the room and inevitably landed on her, Ophie managed—somehow—to flash a small, polite smile. He blinked slowly in acknowledgment before walking on.

Her heart hadn’t even steadied when another figure entered.

He was taller than most, silver hair messy like he’d rolled straight out of bed, red eyes sharp and glinting under the harsh lights. His stride was unhurried but deliberate, drawing a subtle shift in the room’s energy.

And those eyes—those bright, unnatural red eyes—landed on her first.

Ophie’s breath hitched, her pulse jumping before his gaze flicked smoothly past her to Jenna. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“President.”

Jenna didn’t even flinch. She rolled her eyes, adjusting her pen with surgical precision. “Sylus.”

Caleb peeled off toward the far side of the room, his teammates already waving him over with easy grins. He slipped into a seat without hesitation, his laugh carrying faintly across the chatter. Sylus, meanwhile, strolled up a few rows higher and stretched out like he owned the space, long legs propped in front of him, red eyes half-lidded but sharp, scanning everything with lazy amusement.

Ophie exhaled, gripping her pen like it was a lifeline. At least they weren’t sitting right next to her.

Then, behind her, came the muted scrape of a chair. The shift of fabric. The familiar steady presence settling close enough to register.

Xavier.

Jenna’s head turned immediately, sharp as ever. She leaned slightly back, her voice low but carrying in the quiet between settling students. “I wasn’t aware you were taking this section, Xavier.”

His tone, calm and even as always, floated down. “Needed it for the Astronomy track. Tuesday–Thursday section was full.”

Jenna nodded once, faint approval flickering across her face. “This professor’s one of the toughest in the department. She won’t tolerate half-effort.”

“I don’t mind,” Xavier replied, his voice flat but resolute.

Something softened, barely, in Jenna’s expression as she adjusted her papers. “Good. Then we’ll see if you can stay awake long enough to prove it.”

The faintest pause. Then, deadpan: “I’ll try.”

Jenna smirked, a rare crack in her polished composure, before turning back to her desk.
Ophie sat frozen, her heart rattling in her chest.

Just as the last few students were filing in and the shuffle of papers began to quiet, the door swung open again.

Jeremiah slipped inside, his stride casual, his dark hair a little mussed like he hadn’t quite woken up yet. A few girls near the door giggled as he passed, and he rewarded them with a lopsided grin before heading up the rows.

“President,” he greeted smoothly, flashing Jenna a two-finger salute as he came level with her desk. His gaze flicked to Ophie then, bright with recognition from the mixer. “And our new recruit. Morning.”

Ophie startled slightly, but managed a polite, “Morning,” in return.

Jenna gave him a flat look. “You’re late.”

Jeremiah only shrugged, unfazed. “Better late than never.”

With that, he moved past and dropped into the seat behind them, right next to Xavier. The chair squeaked under his weight as he leaned back comfortably, tapping his pencil against the desk in an irregular rhythm.

“Room’s stacked today,” he muttered under his breath, half to Xavier, half to himself, his eyes skimming the room with lazy interest.

The classroom settled into stillness as the professor strode to the front. A tall woman with sharp features and a crisp navy blazer, she carried herself with the kind of authority that demanded silence. She set her briefcase on the desk, flipped open a thick folder, and picked up a piece of chalk like a weapon.

“Welcome to Advanced Calculus,” she said without preamble, her voice cutting clear. “If you signed up thinking this would be easy, now is the time to leave.”

A faint ripple of nervous laughter spread through the room.

“Good,” she continued, turning to scrawl a sweeping equation across the board. “Then let’s not waste time.”

The chalk screeched faintly as she wrote, long lines of symbols already filling the board. She launched into a brisk review of limits and continuity, her explanations fast and precise, leaving little room for distraction—at least for most students.

Ophie sat with her pen flying across her notebook, determined to keep pace. Numbers and symbols sprawled across the page, each step stitched together in her careful handwriting. But concentration came in waves.

Behind her, Jeremiah leaned toward Xavier, his voice a low murmur that still carried in the quiet lulls of chalk.

“Thought you were more of a back-row guy,” Jeremiah said.

“I like windows,” Xavier replied evenly.

Jeremiah chuckled under his breath, tapping his pencil against the desk. “True.”

The professor underlined the equation sharply, and Ophie forced herself back into the rhythm. Focus. Don’t drift.

“Ms. Varga?” Jenna’s voice cut smoothly into the air, hand raised. “Could you clarify why you’re defining that boundary condition here, instead of later with the theorem?”

The professor actually paused, blinking once before nodding approvingly. “Excellent question. Because it eliminates redundancy in the proof." She turned to the board, expanding the problem with fluid efficiency.

Jenna leaned back, satisfied, pen moving in neat, precise strokes across her notes.

Jeremiah smirked, leaning forward just enough to murmur, “Always the President.”

“Always punctual,” Jenna shot back without glancing at him.

The corners of Jeremiah’s mouth twitched, amused.

Ophie hunched slightly over her notes, her pen scratching as she tried to tune them out. Her nerves buzzed—awareness prickling at her back where Xavier sat, the lazy rhythm of Jeremiah’s pencil tapping, Jenna’s sharp composure beside her.

The lecture rolled on—integrals, sequences, the kind of foundational rigor meant to weed out the unprepared. Ophie kept up as best she could, though her mind drifted again when the professor asked for volunteers and silence hung heavy until Caleb’s voice rang out from across the room, confident, assured, carrying like he belonged at the center of every stage.

Her throat tightened. She scribbled harder, her pen nearly tearing the paper.

And then—

She shifted slightly in her seat, stretching her hand, and her gaze flicked upward toward the higher rows.

Sylus.

He was sprawled in his chair, long legs stretched out, one arm draped carelessly across the back of his chair. His silver hair fell into his eyes, but the sharp glint of red beneath it caught hers instantly.

He was already watching her.

Ophie froze, breath stalling in her chest as their eyes locked. His mouth curved—not a smile, exactly, but something sharper, a private smirk like he knew a joke she didn’t.

Heat rushed into her face, and she tore her gaze away, heart thudding as she bent back over her notes.

The professor’s voice thundered back into focus, chalk cracking against the board.

“Pay attention. This will come back on your first exam.”

Ophie’s grip tightened on her pen, her notes blurring faintly under her own hurried script.

Too much. Too many eyes, too many voices.

She forced her pen across the page, the motion mechanical. Symbols stacked over one another, neat enough at a glance but slipping messy at the edges. Her hand ached from pressing too hard, her knuckles tight and white.

The professor kept the pace merciless, her chalk darting across the board in long, unbroken sweeps. “Derivatives, sequences, continuity—this isn’t just theory. These are the bones of every structure you’ll solve. If you can’t keep up, you won’t keep standing.”

The words struck a little too close to home.
Ophie hunched lower, her gaze fixed on the equations but not really seeing them anymore. Her ears buzzed with Caleb’s low laugh across the room, Jeremiah’s pencil tapping behind her, the scrape of Xavier’s pen as he wrote with even, steady strokes. Above it all, she could feel Sylus—those crimson eyes burning into her back even when she didn’t dare look up again.

Her breath snagged, chest tightening.

Focus. Just focus.

She dragged her notes into order, forcing herself to copy down each line the professor wrote, her letters smaller, sharper, each one a fight against the noise in her head. If she kept her eyes down, if she just kept writing, maybe the weight pressing on her ribs would ease.

Finally—mercifully—the professor set the chalk down with a sharp clap.

“That’s enough for today. Read the first two chapters of the text and come prepared. We’ll be moving faster next time.”

A collective sigh swept through the room. Chairs scraped, backpacks unzipped, papers shuffled. Ophie sat frozen for a second, fingers clenched around her pen, the ink blotting into the margin where it had pressed too long against the page.
She needed to move. Needed air.

The sidewalks hummed with first-day chatter as students poured out of classrooms and spilled onto campus lawns. Ophiel kept her head down, notebook clutched tight against her chest, her bag heavy on her shoulder.

Beside her, Jenna walked briskly, heels clicking sharp against the pavement, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice shifted in tone with each call—calm, professional, cutting. One moment she was reminding a club treasurer about paperwork, the next she was politely but firmly telling an administrator that no, Delta Chi Theta would not be rescheduling their volunteer block.

Ophie didn’t mind the silence. After Math, her thoughts still felt tangled, knotted too tightly to pull free. She let Jenna’s voice wash over her like white noise, her eyes fixed on the ivy climbing up the library wall, the way sunlight scattered across the science wing windows.

They crossed onto quieter streets, the noise of campus thinning behind them. Jenna ended her last call with a clipped, “We’ll discuss it at the meeting. Goodbye,” and slid her phone into her pocket. For the first time since they’d left the lecture hall, her focus shifted fully to Ophiel.

“Can I be honest with you?” Jenna asked, her voice steady but softer now, lacking the edge it carried when she was in president mode.

Ophie blinked, glancing sideways at her. “Yeah. Of course.”

Jenna’s eyes, sharp and discerning, studied her for a long moment as they walked beneath the shade of a tree-lined path.

Jenna sighed, her shoulders loosening slightly as though she were finally setting aside the mantle of “President” for just a moment. “I know today was your first real day at LCU,” she said evenly. “And I know you’re still trying to find your place—balancing new classes, new people, new expectations. That’s normal.”

Ophie nodded faintly, eyes lowering to the pavement as they walked.

“But,” Jenna continued, her tone firm but not unkind, “you’re also part of Delta Chi Theta now. Which means you’re not doing any of this alone. You’ve got sisters who’ve been exactly where you are, and who’ll back you up every step of the way. You don’t need to worry about standing here as if you’re an outsider.”

Heat pricked at Ophie’s cheeks, though she wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or gratitude. She opened her mouth to protest—I’m not worried, I’m fine—but Jenna’s glance cut toward her, sharp enough to silence her before she could get a word out.

“I can feel your nerves,” Jenna said, her voice softer now. “Your timidness. And that’s not a bad thing. It just means you care. But I hope…” She hesitated, then pressed on. “I hope you’ll let yourself be a little more open. A little more confident. Because I know you’re extremely intelligent, Ophiel. You showed that even in how you looked at the mixer, how you watched people, how you processed things today. I just want you to let other people see that too. To show them you.”

The words landed heavier than Ophie expected. She tightened her grip on her notebook, her throat thick as she searched for a reply and found none.

Jenna’s gaze softened briefly, the corner of her mouth tugging into something close to a smile before her expression smoothed again. “Don’t hide in the shadows. You belong here.”

Chapter 5: Supernova

By the time evening settled over the house, the noise of campus had dimmed into a soft hum outside. Inside Tara and Ophie’s room, however, it was anything but quiet.

Tara was sprawled across her bed in leggings and an oversized tee, flipping idly through her criminology textbook like it was a magazine. Ophie sat cross-legged on her own bed, laptop open but pushed aside, her hair damp from a shower. And on the floor, Riley had claimed a patch of rug, leaning back on her elbows with her boots still on, a half-empty bag of chips balanced on her stomach.

“So,” Riley said around a mouthful, crunch echoing in the room, “how was everyone’s first day of scholarly suffering?”

Tara groaned dramatically, tossing her textbook onto the blankets. “Criminology prof already looks like he eats students for breakfast. Pretty sure I’m gonna have to sleep with one eye open.”

Riley snorted. “Please. If he even tried, you’d deck him.”

“True,” Tara admitted with a grin.

She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “But what about you, Snowcrest? How was day one?”

Ophie hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Busy. Just… a lot.”

Riley raised a brow, crunching another chip. “’Fine.’ That’s it? C’mon, you’ve got stories. Everybody does on their first day.”

Tara perked up, pointing a finger like she’d caught Ophie red-handed. “Yeah. Especially if it has to do with a certain silver-haired baseball boy.”

Heat rushed into Ophie’s face immediately. “Oh my god, Tara—”

Riley sat up instantly, eyes widening with interest. “Oh my god! Don’t tell me—Xavier?”

Ophie groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. She finally dropped the pillow into her lap, laughter slipping out despite the heat in her cheeks. “You two have got to chill,” she said, shaking her head. “Seriously. He barely even talked to me.”

Tara gasped, clutching her chest like Ophie had just committed blasphemy. “Barely even talked? Girl, that’s practically a novel for Xavier.”

Riley pointed at her with a chip like it was proof. “Exactly. If he said more than three words, that’s historic. You’re basically in the archives now.”

Ophie groaned again, burying her face briefly in her hands before peeking up with a crooked smile. “You’re both insane.”

Tara grinned, flopping onto her back dramatically. “Insane and right.”

Riley shrugged, smirking as she dug back into her bag of chips. “Hey, we call it like we see it. And what I saw last night at the mixer? Mr. Stoic Astronomy Major actually looking interested for once.”

Ophie shook her head, still laughing, though a small flutter twisted in her chest at their words. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that.”

“Sure,” Tara said, stretching out the word with a knowing drawl. “Whatever you say.”

Riley crunched another chip, leaning back on her elbows with a mischievous grin. “Alright, fine, we’ll lay off Xavier. For now. But what about Caleb? You can already tell he’s gonna be annoying this semester. Football season’s coming back up, and you know that ego of his is about to be the size of the stadium.”

Ophie’s laugh caught in her throat, though she managed to mask it with a small shake of her head.

Tara snorted, rolling onto her stomach. “Please. Caleb doesn’t need football season to have an ego. He wakes up in the morning and it’s there waiting for him.”

Riley smirked. “Yeah, but the second he’s got a game coming up? Forget it. He’ll be floating six inches off the ground.”

Tara flipped a page of her textbook idly, then added with a grin, “Honestly, I think that’s why he and Simone get along so well. She’s a cheerleader, he’s Mr. Touchdown—it’s like a perfect cliché.”

“Wait—Simone’s a cheerleader?” Ophie asked, surprised.

“Oh yeah,” Tara said, propping her chin in her hand. “Has been since freshman year. She plays it cool, but she’s one of the best flyers on the squad. If you ever catch a game, you’ll see. She and Caleb? Total crowd favorites.”

Riley waggled her brows. “Not that she’d ever admit it, but I think she secretly likes the attention almost as much as he does.”

Ophie sat back, the words tumbling in her head, her smile fixed as Tara and Riley carried on. Caleb, smiling in stadium lights. Simone, cheering him on from the sidelines. The perfect match everyone saw on the surface.

And she? She was just the girl in the stands, trying not to stare too long.

The gossip eventually trickled into quieter laughs, the kind that came softer and slower as the night wore on. Riley polished off the last of her chips, brushing crumbs off her jeans before pushing herself up from the floor.

“Alright, I’m calling it. Workshop starts at eight a.m., and if I’m late, my professor will kill me.”

Tara yawned theatrically. “Lightweight.”

“Please,” Riley shot back with a grin, “I could outlast you any night.” She waved lazily as she headed for the door. “Night, losers.”

“Night,” Tara and Ophie chimed together.

When the room quieted again, Tara kicked her textbook off the bed with a thud, rolled onto her side, and mumbled, “Wake me if I sleep through class tomorrow.”

Ophie smiled faintly in the dark, slipping under her own blankets. The laughter still lingered in her chest, warm enough to soothe the edges of her nerves. For the first time that week, she drifted off easily.

Tuesday passed in a blur.

Her schedule took her from lecture halls to labs, back-to-back classes that left her scribbling notes until her hand cramped. She was grateful, though—grateful that the only familiar faces were Simone and Riley, both easy distractions who anchored her without asking for anything in return. No violet eyes across the room. No red ones catching hers like a hook. No calm, unreadable voice at her shoulder.

It was a break she hadn’t realized she desperately needed.

By Wednesday morning, though, the reprieve was over.

Astronomy again.

Ophie slipped into the lecture hall with her notebook hugged tight to her chest, the rows slowly filling with the sleepy shuffle of students. She found her usual spot by the window, setting down her bag and laptop, her eyes drawn almost unconsciously to the door.

And sure enough, there he was.

Xavier.

His silver hair caught the light as he stepped inside, his stride unhurried, his expression the same unreadable calm. He glanced around the room once, then made his way toward the back.

Xavier slid into the seat beside her without a word, his bag landing with its usual quiet thud. He unfolded his notebook with deliberate calm, pen poised as if the lecture had already begun.

For a moment, Ophie stared out the window, heart hammering. Jenna’s words from Monday looped in her head: Don’t hide in the shadows. You belong here. Be more open. Show people who you are.

Her throat was dry, but before she could talk herself out of it, she turned slightly toward him. “You didn’t fall asleep last time,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

Xavier blinked once, slow, before looking at her. The faintest crease touched his brow, as though her comment had surprised him. “No,” he said simply.

Ophie pressed on, forcing herself not to drop her gaze. “Is that… rare?”

This time, his mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile. “Yes.”

The corners of her lips lifted, confidence flickering. “Then I should feel honored, right?”

Xavier tilted his head, studying her like she’d just said something unusual, then nodded once. “Yes.”

The bluntness of it made her laugh under her breath, some of her tension easing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her pulse still racing but not from nerves anymore.

Before she could say more, the professor walked in, briefcase snapping shut on the desk as the room hushed. Xavier turned forward again, but not before glancing at her once, blue eyes lingering in a way that made heat rise up her neck.

The lecture picked up speed, the professor pacing briskly across the front of the room as diagrams of stellar life cycles filled the projector screen. White dwarfs, red giants, supernovas—the rise and fall of stars drawn in chalk and light.

Ophie tried to anchor herself in the rhythm, scribbling notes, highlighting key terms, the familiar comfort of numbers and processes settling into her chest. The room faded around her until all that existed was the board, her pen, and the sound of the professor’s voice.

But somewhere in the middle of the explanation—hydrogen fusion into helium, mass thresholds dictating stellar evolution—her confidence wavered. The professor rattled off a condition too quickly, her words skipping in Ophie’s ear.

Without thinking, Ophie leaned slightly toward Xavier, her voice barely above a whisper. “She meant below 1.4 solar masses, right? That’s the Chandrasekhar limit?”

Xavier didn’t look away from his notes. “Yes.” His tone was flat, but the pen in his hand paused as if to underline the word. After a second, he added, “White dwarfs collapse if it’s higher.”

Relief eased her chest. Ophie nodded, her pen flying again. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”

“Mm.”

It wasn’t much, just a clipped confirmation, but the way he hadn’t hesitated—like he’d been paying enough attention to catch exactly what she needed—made warmth crawl up the back of her neck.

The professor carried on, her chalk punctuating each stage of stellar death with sharp ticks against the board. Ophie’s pen danced to keep up, but every so often she felt Xavier’s quiet presence like a tether at her side—steady, precise, unshakable.

The professor wrapped up with a final sweep of chalk, underlining the words stellar equilibrium before setting the stick down with a sharp clack.

“Read chapters three and four for Friday,” she said briskly. “We’ll be moving on to variable stars next. Don’t fall behind.”

The room erupted in the usual shuffle—chairs scraping, bags zipping, laptops snapping shut. Ophie let out a long, steady breath, rolling her pen between her fingers before tucking it carefully into the spiral of her notebook.

Beside her, Xavier closed his own notebook with deliberate precision, sliding it into his bag as if nothing in the world could rush him. The crowd of students spilled toward the door in noisy waves, but he stayed unbothered, calm in the chaos.

Ophie glanced once at her notes, then at him, and before she could stop herself, said lightly, “Still awake. That’s two for two.”

Xavier’s head tilted slightly, his blue eyes meeting hers with quiet weight. “You kept me from falling asleep.”

The blunt honesty of it stole her breath. Heat prickled up her neck, and she quickly busied herself with zipping her bag. “Well… glad I could help, I guess.”

He only blinked, slow and deliberate, as if that was answer enough.

They stood at the same time, falling into step with the stream of students filtering toward the door. Ophie hugged her bag strap, her heart thudding at the thought of what Jenna had told her.

She wasn’t sure if Xavier would have said more, but just knowing she’d gotten him to speak at all, gotten that faint flicker of something behind his calm exterior… it was enough.

For now.

By the time Ophie made it across campus, her nerves had settled into something almost manageable. The moment she spotted Simone already camped out halfway up the rows, binder open and coffee in hand, relief bloomed in her chest.

“Saved you a seat,” Simone said, nudging the empty desk beside her with her elbow.

“Lifesaver,” Ophie breathed, sliding into the chair. She set her bag down with a soft thump and pulled her notebook free, exchanging a quick grin with her sorority sister. They fell into easy small talk—Simone complaining about her math professor already assigning group projects, Ophie groaning in sympathy as she scrawled the date across her page.

The door opened.

Ophie’s pen stilled.

Xavier stepped in, silver hair catching the light just so, expression its usual calm mask. He scanned the room once, then without hesitation, made his way to the row directly behind them. The chair creaked as he lowered himself into it, notebook placed neatly on the desk in front of him.

Ophie’s mouth twitched before she could stop it. She turned slightly, catching his eye. “Following me, huh?” she murmured, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

Xavier blinked once, slow. “Physics is required.”

Her lips curved despite herself. “Uh-huh. Convenient.”

Before she could gauge the faint flicker in his eyes—amusement, maybe—the door opened again.

And in walked Caleb.

The shift in the room was immediate. Conversations dimmed, a couple of girls in the front row straightening in their seats, whispers trailing after him as he crossed the aisle. His violet eyes scanned the rows, friendly grin easy and natural, the kind that made people lean in without thinking.

Ophie’s heart tripped, her pulse quickening as he passed.

The weight of the morning—the stars, the equations, Xavier’s steady presence—collapsed into a sharper knot the second Caleb stepped into the room.

Thankfully, Caleb didn’t so much as glance in her direction. He strode past, violet eyes flicking briefly over the rows, and slid into the same seat he’d claimed on Monday with his teammates waiting for him. The hum of chatter picked back up, like his presence was background noise everyone had already gotten used to.

The lecture started, equations flaring across the projector as the professor launched into motion problems. This time, though, something clicked.
Simone was sharp, quick to raise her hand, her voice confident as she argued a point about acceleration. Ophie chimed in beside her, tentative at first, then steadier when the professor nodded and expanded on her answer. And behind them, Xavier’s calm baritone cut in every so often, filling in a step, clarifying a detail with precise, almost surgical words.

The three of them bounced comments like a rhythm, Ophie finding herself leaning into it, her nerves fading under the give-and-take. It felt—strangely—like balance.

Before she knew it, the professor was capping his marker, dismissing them with a brisk reminder to review their lab schedule.

Students rustled papers, packed bags, and shuffled toward the doors.

Simone snapped her binder shut, tucking it under her arm. “I’ll catch up—gonna give Caleb a hard time.” She flashed a grin and, true to her word, veered straight across the room toward him.

Ophie slung her bag over her shoulder, pausing just long enough to glance back at Xavier as he slid his notebook into his pack with deliberate calm. “Guess I’ll see you in Calculus,” she said, her voice quieter but steadier than before.

Xavier met her eyes, unblinking. “Yes. See you there.”

Simple. Certain.

Ophie felt the corner of her mouth lift before she turned toward the door, the buzz of students carrying her out into the hall.

By the time Ophie reached Calculus, her nerves had steadied into something manageable. Jenna was already there, crisp as ever, motioning her toward their usual seats. Xavier slid into place behind them without a word, Jeremiah beside him, and—mercifully—Caleb and Sylus chose spots elsewhere.

The lecture moved fast, the professor wasting no time diving into proofs and boundary conditions. Equations sprawled across the board, chalk squeaking with every step, and Ophie forced herself to keep pace.

Jenna answered two questions with precise confidence, drawing an approving nod from the professor. Jeremiah cracked a quiet joke under his breath that earned him a glare from Jenna. And once, halfway through, Ophie leaned slightly back to whisper a clarification to Xavier; his calm, clipped answer steadied her more than the chalkboard ever could.

By the time class ended, her notebook was filled edge to edge. Her head buzzed, but this time it was from focus, not nerves.

Three days into LCU, and she was still standing.

The house was alive again by dinnertime, the kitchen humming with the familiar rhythm of clattering pans and overlapping voices. Yvonne was at the stove stirring something fragrant, Riley was crouched at the oven peeking in at a tray of rolls, and Camille quietly chopped herbs at the counter, her hair pulled into a loose braid that brushed her shoulder. Jenna supervised from her usual perch near the island, giving reminders about portion sizes without lifting her eyes from a case brief spread open in front of her.

Ophie stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, warm water rushing over her hands as she rinsed cutting boards and knives, stacking them neatly to dry. It was messy and loud—but it felt like home already.

The front door banged open, footsteps clattering against the hardwood.

“I’m alive!” Tara’s voice rang through the house, dramatic and triumphant.

A chorus of greetings rose instantly. “Finally!” from Riley, “About time,” from Jenna, and Yvonne’s gentle, “Welcome back, Tara.”

Tara bustled into the kitchen, her short, slightly wavy hair a little mussed from the evening air, her arms loaded with textbooks she half-dropped onto the counter. “You would not believe the day I just had—” she started, but cut herself off as her eyes landed on Ophie at the sink.

“Roomie!”

Before Ophie could react, Tara was across the room in three long strides. Ophie laughed in surprise, hands dripping wet from the sink, as Tara wrapped her up in a fierce, tight hug from behind.

“Missed you,” Tara said, voice muffled against her shoulder but warm with sincerity.

Ophie smiled, heart tugging as she awkwardly tried not to splash water everywhere. “I’ve been right here all day.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tara replied, giving her one last squeeze before letting go. “It’s been hours. That’s too long.”

The rest of the girls groaned at Tara’s theatrics, but Ophie felt something ease in her chest all the same.

Dinner smelled too good to linger in the kitchen long. Soon enough, the girls shuffled into the dining room, plates balanced high with roasted vegetables, Yvonne’s chicken dish, Riley’s golden rolls, and Camille’s herbs sprinkled over everything.

The oak table creaked under the weight of food and conversation, chatter overlapping as forks clinked against plates.

“Camille, these herbs make it taste so much fancier,” Riley said around a mouthful.

Camille ducked her head, cheeks pink. “It’s nothing. Just thyme and rosemary.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still invited to season all my meals,” Riley shot back, earning a ripple of laughter.

Tara was halfway through a dramatic retelling of her study session—complete with sound effects of her professor’s “soul-crushing sighs”—when Simone cut in, rolling her eyes. “You just like exaggerating so we’ll pity you.”

“It works,” Tara said brightly, stabbing another bite.

The table buzzed with the easy rhythm of gossip: a TA who already had a crush on Jenna, a professor who mispronounced half the class’s names, the cheer squad already rehearsing stunts for the football game in two weeks.

It was Jenna, of course, who steered the conversation elsewhere. She set down her fork neatly, her gaze sweeping the table. “Speaking of football—before that, the men of ΔΨΚ are hosting a party this Friday.”

The chatter faltered, curiosity sparking instantly.
Riley raised a brow, grinning. “Oh? Here we go.”

Simone leaned forward. “What kind of party?”

“The kind they throw every semester,” Jenna said smoothly. “Loud, crowded, and apparently ‘unmissable.’ They’ve already invited us as their co-host sorority.”

Tara groaned, though her eyes sparkled. “Translation: we’re going whether we want to or not.”

“Exactly,” Jenna said, taking another measured bite of her food.

Ophie’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, her stomach giving a nervous twist. Friday. Another collision course with the boys of ΔΨΚ.

The table erupted instantly.

“Oh, god, not another toga theme,” Riley groaned. “If I have to wrap myself in a bed sheet again, I swear—”

Simone cut her off, shaking her head. “No, no. It’s September. You know they’re gonna do something basic, like neon or blacklight.”

Yvonne pushed her glasses up her nose, arching a brow. “Do you all actually care about themes? People just show up in whatever they think looks good.”

“Exactly,” Tara said, jabbing her fork toward the table like a gavel. “And you know what looks good? Slutty.”

That earned cheers, a few groans, and a loud laugh from Riley. “Finally, someone said it. Slutty is always the answer.”

Camille buried her face in her hands. “Do we really have to call it that?”

“Yes,” Tara and Riley chorused.

“Fine,” Camille sighed, though she was smiling behind her fingers.

The brainstorming spiraled from there—glitter tops, mini skirts, heels versus boots, makeup bold enough to glow under neon lights. The energy was contagious, laughter spilling across the table as plates were pushed aside for hand gestures and mock runway walks.

And to her own surprise, Ophie found herself laughing too.

“Honestly,” she said, setting her fork down, “if we’re going slutty, then we should own it. Like— coordinated slutty. Make it clear we’re the hottest sorority on campus.”

The table went silent for a moment, everyone staring at her. Ophie’s stomach clenched—until Tara whooped and slapped the table.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Hell yeah,” Riley added, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Spoken like a true Delta Chi Theta.”

Heat rushed to Ophie’s cheeks, but she grinned anyway, the knot of nerves in her chest unraveling just a little.

Dinner wound down in a haze of laughter and full plates. By the time dishes were scraped clean and the dishwasher was humming, the house had slipped into its usual post-meal rhythm—some of the girls retreating upstairs, others claiming the couch for late-night studying.

Ophie followed Tara into the garage, the space cool and faintly smelling of detergent and motor oil. The laundry machines lined one wall, one already rumbling softly with a load, the other open and waiting. Tara shoved a pile of clothes inside, hip-checking the door shut with practiced ease.

Ophie leaned against the dryer, folding a stray towel absentmindedly, the quiet of the room a welcome break from the noise of the house.
Tara turned, brushing her hands together, a sly grin curling her lips. “So,” she said, leaning back against the washer, “Friday after classes? We’re going shopping.”

Ophie blinked. “Shopping?”

“For the party.” Tara’s grin widened. “You didn’t think you could get away with wearing something normal to a ΔΨΚ party, did you? Absolutely not. You’re going full slutty with the rest of us.”
Ophie laughed, shaking her head. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

“Never.” Tara crossed her arms. “This is a rite of passage, Ophie. Your first frat party as a Delta Chi Theta. You’ve gotta do it right. And doing it right means new clothes, preferably ones Jenna will scowl at but secretly approve of.”

Ophie bit back a smile, the knot of nerves in her stomach easing. “Fine. Shopping.”

“Good girl.” Tara winked, tugging open the detergent drawer. “Trust me—you’ll thank me when you walk in and every single one of those boys forgets their own name.”

Ophie rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed all the same.

Tara slammed the drawer shut with a hip bump and leaned back against it, arms crossing, eyes glittering with curiosity. “Alright, tell me. Which ΔΨΚ boys have you run into so far?”

Ophie hesitated, twisting the towel in her hands before setting it down. “Uh… Caleb. And Zayne.” Her voice softened almost unconsciously at Zayne’s name. “And Xavier. Oh, and Jeremiah. And Sylus.”

Tara’s brows shot up, impressed. “Damn, you’re knocking them down like dominoes.” She ticked names off on her fingers, lips pursed. “So that means you haven’t met Rafayel, Thomas, Greyson, Gideon, or the twins yet—Luke and Kieran.”

“Twins?” Ophie asked, curiosity breaking through her nerves.

“Yep.” Tara’s grin widened. “Freshmen. Think Sylus’s little shadows. They worship the ground he walks on, follow him around like ducklings. It’s cute, if you ignore the part where he actually seems to like it.”

Ophie laughed, shaking her head.

“And Rafayel,” Tara went on, drawing out the name dramatically. “God, where do I even start? You’ll get tired of him fast. He’s soooooo dramatic. Like, if he gets a paper cut, suddenly he has to get his hand amputated.”

Ophie smirked. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Tara said, rolling her eyes. “But he’s also weirdly charming when he wants to be, which is how he gets away with it. Still, if you hear him monologuing about the state of humanity while painting, just run.”

Ophie laughed outright this time, the sound echoing off the tile and humming machines.

Tara grinned, satisfied. “See? You’ll fit right in. By the time Friday rolls around, you’ll know all of them—and then you can decide for yourself which ones are tolerable.”

Ophie raised a brow. “And which ones aren’t?”

“Exactly.”

The washer rattled into its fill cycle, a low hum filling the small room. Tara leaned back against it, lips pursed, eyes narrowing like she was about to commit a crime.

“You know…” she began slowly, her tone suspiciously light.

Ophie squinted at her. “What.”

Tara shrugged, feigning innocence. “I just think…” she let the silence drag, watching Ophie’s expression tighten, “…you and Xavier would be cute.”

Ophie’s jaw dropped. “Tara.”

Tara grinned, wicked and unrepentant. “I’m serious! The whole mysterious, stoic astronomy boy thing? And you—Miss Stargazer, looking out windows and scribbling notes like it’s poetry? It fits.”

Groaning, Ophie laughed despite herself, stepping forward to grab Tara by the shoulders and give her a light shake. “Tara!”

“What?” Tara protested, still grinning. “He likes you! I saw it at the mixer. That was his interested face.”

“That was his neutral face,” Ophie shot back, rolling her eyes. “That’s just what he looks like!”

“Exactly,” Tara said, wagging a finger. “And yet, with you, he talks. That’s a love letter in Xavier language.”

Ophie pressed her palms over her face, muffling a groan. “You’re making things up now.”

“Nope.” Tara popped the p cheerfully. “I’m calling it like I see it. You two are like… cosmic soulmates. Star-crossed nerds.”

Ophie peeked through her fingers, fighting a smile. “Star-crossed nerds? Really?”

“Yes!” Tara laughed, bouncing once on her toes. “You’re both smart, you both stare at the sky like it’s speaking to you, and let’s be real, he definitely remembered your name on purpose.”

“He probably remembers everyone’s name,” Ophie countered, though her voice wavered.

Tara leaned in, sing-song. “Keep telling youself that, Ophie.”

Ophie groaned again, turning back toward the sink just to hide her burning cheeks. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Tara smirked, victorious. “You love me. And someday, when you’re sitting under the stars holding Xavier’s hand, you’ll thank me.”

“Not happening,” Ophie muttered, tossing the towel onto the counter.

“Uh-huh.” Tara’s grin only widened. “I’ll give it until midterms.”

Ophie finally turned back to glare at her, though laughter still tugged at her lips. “You’re annoying."

“And you’re blushing,” Tara sing-songed again.

Ophie shoved her gently toward the door. “Out. Before I drown you in detergent.”

Tara cackled all the way out of the laundry room and the garage.

The next morning, Ophie woke to the buzz of Tara’s alarm and the familiar shuffle of her roommate digging through the closet. Compared to her Wednesday gauntlet, Thursdays felt almost like a reprieve.

By midmorning, she found herself in Engineering with Simone and Riley. The professor—an eccentric man with a penchant for oversharing about his graduate research—spent most of the lecture scribbling diagrams of circuits that barely made sense to anyone. Simone kept whispering sharp commentary under her breath “that resistor’s backwards,” “he literally forgot Ohm’s law just now”, making Ophie bite back laughter while Riley doodled welding torches in the margins of her notebook.

The class was technical and dense, but having both girls at her side turned it into something manageable—even fun.

Later that afternoon, she and Simone trekked across campus together to Computer Science. That lecture hall buzzed with the energy of students clacking on keyboards even before the professor began. Ophie tucked herself into a seat beside Simone, relieved that the logic and rhythm of coding felt like something she could sink into. Simone breezed through the lecture, tapping at her laptop with confident speed, and Ophie kept pace as best she could, comforted by the quiet solidarity of working in tandem.

By the time she left the lab that evening, Ophie realized she hadn’t seen a single ΔΨΚ boy all day. No silver hair, no violet eyes, no lazy red gaze following her. Just Simone and Riley’s chatter as they split off for cheer practice and welding.
She hadn’t realized how much she needed the break until her shoulders finally loosened.

Friday, however, was another story.

Astronomy at nine brought her face-to-face with Xavier again, his calm presence beside her a steady weight. The lecture on stellar nucleosynthesis was fast-paced, dense, and precise—but Ophie found herself following it more easily now, occasionally leaning toward Xavier for quick clarifications. He never wasted words, but when he spoke, it was direct and reassuring, like a compass pointing north.

Physics at eleven with Simone started fine, but the moment Caleb walked in, Ophie’s chest tightened. He dropped into the same seat as always, laughing with teammates, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear. Xavier slipped into the row behind her again, unbothered and precise, answering one of the professor’s questions with that calm baritone that made Ophie’s pen still mid-note. Simone, bless her, leaned into Ophie’s space often enough to keep her tethered, but the awareness of both boys’ presence pressed at the edges of her focus until the clock finally released her.

By the time Calculus rolled around at two, the tension was sharp enough to cut. Jenna was her anchor, sitting tall and poised beside her, but Ophie couldn’t ignore the lineup: Xavier directly behind her, Caleb diagonally across, Jeremiah leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, and Sylus stretched out in the higher rows, crimson eyes sharp whenever she glanced up.

The professor was relentless, hammering through proofs and boundary conditions with no patience for hesitation. Ophie fought to keep her pen steady, forcing herself to focus on Jenna’s whispered clarifications and Xavier’s clipped answers to the professor’s questions.

Still, she could feel Caleb’s laugh from across the room, could sense Sylus’s gaze like a silent challenge, could hear Jeremiah murmuring lazy commentary to Xavier that earned an occasional, flat “no” in reply.

By the time the lecture ended, Ophie’s notebook was full, but her chest was tight with relief. She made it through another week. Barely.

And now—the night loomed.

ΔΨΚ’s party.

As soon as their last classes ended on Friday, Tara practically pounced on Ophie outside the math building.

“C’mon,” she said, looping her arm through Ophie’s before she could even tuck away her notebook. “We’re going shopping. No excuses.”

Ophie barely had time to stammer a protest before Riley joined them, already waving her car keys like a flag of victory. “Bags, babes. We’re finding something that’ll make jaws drop tonight.”

The sidewalks were alive with students doing the same thing—shopping bags in hand, coffee cups balancing on notebooks, a dozen voices chattering about the party already. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans and perfume spilling from the storefronts, and Tara was buzzing like she’d been caffeinated for hours.

“Alright, mission parameters,” Tara declared as they ducked into the first boutique, its window lined with glossy mannequins draped in glitter and silk. “One: Ophie finds something that makes her look hot enough to stop traffic. Two: Ophie actually buys it instead of talking herself out of it. Three: Ophie doesn’t murder me by the end of this trip.”

Riley snorted, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “You forgot four: I get new boots. Because these ones are tragic.”

“Noted,” Tara said, waving her off.

The store was a blur of textures—sequins, velvet, satin—all in dizzying neon under the lights. Tara dove headfirst into the racks like she was born for it, tugging dresses out one after the other with zero hesitation. Riley joined in, holding up a short metallic mini and waggling her brows at Ophie.

“You’d look like a disco ball, but in a good way.”

Ophie laughed nervously, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she let herself be herded toward the fitting rooms. “I’ve literally never worn anything like that.”

“Exactly,” Tara shot back. “First frat party. First statement outfit. You only get one chance at this.”

The next hour was a whirl of fabric. Tara shoved bodycon dresses into her arms, Riley added slinky tops and skirts, and Ophie shuffled in and out of the dressing room while the girls shouted commentary from outside the curtain.

“That’s too safe,” Tara called at one point. “You look like you’re going to dinner with your mom.”

“Too shiny,” Riley critiqued next, “Like, you’d blind everyone, and maybe that’s funny, but still.”

Ophie rolled her eyes so hard they nearly hurt, but underneath her laughter, a nervous thrill ran through her. The mirror kept reflecting back someone she half-recognized, someone bold enough to try, even if the outfit didn’t stick.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred near-misses, Tara stopped mid-rummage, eyes widening. “Wait. Wait. This one.”

She yanked out a dark blue set that glittered faintly under the lights, sequins catching every angle. It wasn’t just a dress—it was a three-piece outfit. A knit sequined top with hollow cutouts that hinted at skin without being too much, a fitted skirt that hugged the hips and fell just right, and a cropped knit jacket to tie it all together.

Riley let out a low whistle. “Oh yeah. That’s it.”

Ophie stared, heart thudding. It looked daring, glamorous, and so far from the heavy winter sweaters of Snowcrest she almost didn’t believe it was meant for her.

But Tara shoved it into her arms with a grin that brokered no argument. “Try it on. Right now.”

Ophie tugged the curtain shut behind her, heart thumping. The sequined knit three-piece felt delicate in her hands, like it might unravel if she breathed wrong. But when she pulled it on, something shifted.

The silver sequins shimmered under the boutique lights, catching every flicker of movement like starlight. The knit top clung to her just enough, hollow cutouts teasing skin at the neckline and ribs, its tie detail drawing the eye toward the center. The matching skirt was short—shorter than anything she’d ever dared wear—hugging her hips with a glitter that flashed with each step. Over it, the long-sleeved mesh jacket framed everything, sheer and sequined, the sleeves grazing her wrists like a constellation stitched in fabric.

When she turned in the mirror, the outfit didn’t just reflect her—it transformed her. She didn’t look like the quiet transfer from Snowcrest anymore. She looked bold. Electric. Someone who belonged at a party like tonight's. 

From outside the curtain, Tara’s impatient voice rang out. “Well? Don’t make me come in there.”

Ophie swallowed, pushed the curtain aside—

And Tara let out a shriek so loud half the store turned their heads. “Oh my god.”

Riley’s jaw dropped, “Holy shit, Ophie.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks, but Ophie couldn’t help the laugh bubbling out. “It’s… a lot, right?”

“It’s perfect,” Tara corrected, spinning her around by the shoulders so she could see herself in the full-length mirror again. “You’re wearing the night sky. Look at you! You’re a walking supernova.”

Riley leaned against the wall, smirking. "You look hot, Ophie."

Ophie rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward. “You two are being dramatic.”

“No,” Tara said, hands still firm on her shoulders. “Rafayel is dramatic. This? This is me being correct.”

Riley snorted. “She’s right, though. You look… I mean—damn, Ophie. If you don’t wear that tonight, I’ll personally stage a protest.”

Ophie turned back to the mirror, cheeks still warm. The sequins glimmered with every subtle move she made, like the outfit was alive under the lights. It was daring. Bold. A little terrifying. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like Snowcrest’s quiet girl. She looked like she could step into that party and own it.

“I don’t know…” she started, but Tara cut her off instantly.

“Nope. Don’t even finish that sentence. That’s the one. The end. Decision made.”

Riley crossed her arms, grinning. “Yeah, you’re not getting out of this one, stargazer.”

Ophie let out a helpless laugh, finally lifting her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it.”

“Yes!” Tara punched the air in victory. “Delta Chi Theta makeover complete.”

Riley tipped her head, her smirk softening just a little. “Seriously though, Ophie… you look incredible. Like, head-turning. People are gonna remember this.”

Ophie bit her lip, glancing at her reflection one more time. “Guess I’ll just have to hope they remember for the right reasons.”

“They will,” Tara said firmly, looping an arm through hers as she steered her back toward the fitting room. “And if they don’t, they’ll deal with me.”

In the end, Ophie didn’t even fight Tara and Riley on it. The three-piece sequined knit went into a garment bag, carefully folded and carried like treasure. Tara practically strutted out of the boutique as though she had just been crowned queen of the night, Riley trailing behind with a satisfied smirk.

But they didn’t stop there. Once the high of finding the outfit settled, Tara tugged them into another shop down the block. Racks of shoes glittered under fluorescent lights, metallic heels lined up like soldiers. Riley found her coveted pair of boots—black leather with chunky soles—and declared the day a success before they’d even paid. Tara picked out a skin-tight red mini dress that made her grin like she’d just planned a crime, and Ophie found herself helping Camille over FaceTime choose between two necklaces, holding them up one at a time until Camille sighed and muttered, “Both.”

By the time they left the last shop, their arms were loaded with bags—garment bags, shoeboxes, accessories stuffed into glossy totes. Tara had to balance hers against her hip, Riley complained that she couldn’t even see over hers, and Ophie kept laughing at the ridiculous picture they made.

Riley’s car was parked a few blocks away, the old hatchback that rattled faintly when she unlocked it. The three of them wrestled their loot into the car, laughing the whole time as Tara insisted her dress not get squished under Riley’s boots. Ophie squeezed into the backseat among the bags, a shoebox pressing into her thigh, the garment bag with her outfit carefully draped across her lap like fragile glass.

By the time Riley slid behind the wheel, the car was stuffed with shopping bags and three grinning girls, all buzzing with the same thought:

The night couldn’t come fast enough.

Notes:

Just a preface, I have never been to a University—let alone a college—a day in my life. So give me some grace if I mess some of this stuff up lol. Im learning and researching as I go. And obviously this is an AU, so some things might not align correctly with the original characters of Love and Deepspace. But I'm so excited for this story!