I stepped through the grand front entrance of the campus, nerves buzzing in my chest, and made my way toward the check-in desk. A woman in her late forties, clipboard in hand, was moving through students like a machine — efficient but oddly cheerful.
I joined the line, bouncing lightly on my toes, and soon found myself at the front.
"Hello, sweetie. What's your name?" she asked warmly, flashing a smile that instantly put me at ease.
"Oh — Broba. Nineteen."
She scanned the list quickly. "Ah, here you are! You've already chosen your classes — great picks, by the way." She gave me a playful wink. "Feel free to explore the campus for a while, and come back later to pick up your room key. Oh, and you can check that list over there to see who your roommate will be."
"Thank you... Mrs. Williams," I said, reading her name tag.
"Oh, honey, call me Pat. No one bothers with those silly tags anyway." She chuckled.
I smiled, thanked her again, and stepped aside to breathe. Okay… this might not be so bad after all.
The check-in area — labeled Common Area 1 — was spacious and lively. Bright couches were scattered across the room, a huge flatscreen TV hung at the far wall, and everywhere you looked, students buzzed with excitement and nerves.
I wandered to a small table nearby and grabbed a campus map, hoping to locate my classes. Nursing was my major, and my first class was Microbiology and Anatomy — a combo that already made my brain ache.
As I struggled to unfold the ridiculously complicated map, I bumped into someone — hard.
"Oh crap — I'm so sorry!" I gasped, watching my map and a book clatter to the floor.
"No worries!" came the reply. I looked up and saw a girl about my age with sleek brown hair tied in a ponytail and two massive suitcases beside her. Her shirt read "The Potato Has Left the Couch." I immediately wanted to be her friend.
I picked up her book and handed it to her.
"Thanks! I'm Hope, by the way."
"Broba." I tucked the useless map into my bag. I'd find my classes later… maybe with actual GPS.
"I love your glasses. Are they prescription?"
"Since I was eleven." I shrugged. "People always ask why I don't just wear contacts, but... I'm terrified I'll lose one inside my eyeball forever."
Hope laughed. "Your shirt gets me. I saw it and thought, 'Wow, this is my biography.'"
We locked eyes.
"Nah," we both said in unison.
And just like that, we were laughing. Real, belly-shaking, breathless laughter. It felt good.
"Well, I should probably get going," I said, grabbing my bag. "See you around, Hope."
"Definitely, Broba." She smiled as she walked away.
I wandered a bit more, checking out classrooms and saying polite hellos to professors. Eventually, I headed back to the roommate list Pat had mentioned. A small crowd had gathered around it, craning their necks to read the names.
And who did I spot fighting her way through the pack? Hope.
"Hey!" I called, tapping her shoulder.
"Oh, hey, Broba! Checking the list too?"
"Yup."
We pushed through the bodies like we were diving for treasure. I scanned the rows quickly — and froze.
"Eeeeeep!" Hope squealed, making me flinch.
"We're roomies!"
I double-checked, and sure enough, Broba Adams / Hope Martinez sat side by side on the list.
"Yes! Think of all the things two couch potatoes can do in one room."
"Snacking, napping, bingeing bad TV... we're gonna thrive." She bumped her shoulder against mine.
"Let's go get our keys!" she said, grabbing my arm and dragging me excitedly to the front desk.
"Room 239 on the third floor," Pat said with a grin, handing us the keys. "Come to me if you girls need anything, alright?"
We thanked her and turned to leave when Hope froze.
"Oh crap! I left one of my suitcases near a classroom. Mind waiting?"
"Go for it," I said, adjusting my backpack. "I'll meet you back here."
She darted off, and I dug into my bag for my phone. Panic kicked in when I couldn't find it.
Ugh — not again.
I dumped out the contents of my carry-on bag. Nothing.
Then it hit me — I'd used it outside my Psychology and People Skills class earlier.
I sprinted across the hallways and arrived breathless. There it was, right where I'd left it, lying untouched on the floor. I picked it up, checked for damage — all good — and opened my messages.
I turned to leave, my eyes glued to the screen, when I crashed straight into someone. Hard.
We both hit the floor, limbs sprawled everywhere, and my phone landed between us.
Why do I keep crashing into people today?
As we both reached to grab the phone, our hands brushed.
I looked up.
And froze.
A boy around my age was kneeling across from me. Tousled, wavy brown hair. Green eyes that somehow locked me in place. And a soft smile that melted my thoughts into useless puddles.
He picked up the phone and handed it to me. "Sorry, I… wasn't paying attention."
"N-no, I… I wasn't either," I stammered, sounding ridiculous. My voice cracked. Perfect.
"I'm Gabriel." He extended his hand slowly, like he didn't want the moment to end.
"I… I'm Broba." I shook his hand, warm and steady, and for one second, everything stilled — just me, him, and the sound of our racing hearts.
I blinked first and looked away.
"I should, um, go. My friend's probably waiting for me."
"Yeah, me too." He stood up beside me. "I… I'll see you around then."
"Y-yeah. Sure." I gave the world's most awkward wave and turned to walk away, nearly tripping over my own feet.
"Bye," he called gently behind me.
I didn't answer. I was too busy trying to breathe.
What the heck just happened?
I reached our bags and flopped down, pretending to be calm as I stared at my phone.
Minutes later, Hope came running back, red-faced and panting. "Forgot… where I left… my bags," she gasped.
I laughed. "Come on, let's go."
We grabbed our things and headed for the elevator, both completely unaware that everything — absolutely everything — had just changed.