Crestwood University prided itself on its "historic charm." Translation: everything was at least thirty years past its prime, especially in Hawthorne Hall, the oldest dorm on campus.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, Jenna Holloway stood in the basement laundry room of Hawthorne Hall, staring at the blinking red light of the out-of-order dryer like it had personally insulted her mother.
"Of course," she muttered, arms full of damp clothes, the smell of lavender detergent rising off her hoodie. She looked around the cramped room — only two dryers worked, and one of them was humming happily with someone else's laundry already spinning inside. The other was occupied by a guy currently trying to shove in a blanket roughly the size of a small country.
She sighed and turned to leave — and walked straight into him.
"The universe really is trying to kill me today," she said under her breath.
Theo Mercer, clad in a smug grin and a rain-slicked black jacket, stepped back with theatrical annoyance. "Watch where you're going, Holloway. Some of us value personal space."
"You're literally standing in front of the door."
"And you're blocking the dryer with a laundry basket that looks like it's been through a war zone."
She looked down at her lopsided blue basket, duct-taped in two corners. "It's functional."
He smirked. "Barely."
If sarcasm were a sport, Jenna was pretty sure Theo would have a gold medal by now. She rolled her eyes, brushing past him. "Don't you have someone else to irritate? Or is your ego not getting enough attention today?"
"I could say the same about you. What is it this time — sabotaging debate prep again?"
Jenna scoffed. "You're the one who told Professor Lin I plagiarized my last essay. Which, for the record, I didn't."
Theo lifted a brow. "I just said it sounded familiar. Maybe because I've heard the same moral superiority speech from you a hundred times."
They stood there, barely two feet apart, glaring, the hum of the laundry machines doing nothing to ease the tension.
Then, in an almost comedic beat, the dryer behind Jenna beeped and opened — spewing hot air and someone else's socks onto the floor.
She groaned.
He chuckled.
"I'm not helping you pick those up," he said, stepping around her with the kind of exaggerated care usually reserved for walking through mud.
"I wouldn't want you to. You'd probably monologue about it."
He gave a mock bow. "Until next time, Holloway."
"Hopefully not."
As he disappeared up the stairs, Jenna muttered a string of things under her breath she was glad he didn't hear. She knelt to pick up the socks and stopped when she noticed something odd in the corner.
A medium-sized wicker basket sat beneath the message board, half-hidden behind the dryer. A faded note was taped to it:
"FOUND SOCKS AND FORGOTTEN THINGS — OR MAYBE JUST LEAVE A NOTE."
Jenna tilted her head. Odd. She peeked inside — a few mismatched socks, a single glove, and one yellow sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it.
Without thinking, Jenna pulled a pen from her pocket and grabbed the back of an old grocery receipt. She hesitated, then scribbled:
"Some days feel heavier than a wet hoodie. Hope yours are lighter."
She paused. Why was she even doing this? Maybe because she needed to say it out loud. Or maybe because saying it anonymously felt oddly freeing.
She folded the note, tucked it in the basket, and returned to her damp pile of laundry, the dryer now free.
As she loaded the machine and hit START, Jenna felt — strangely — a little better.
She had no idea that the simple act of writing that note would change everything.
Because someone would write back.
And it would be the last person on earth she'd ever want to fall for.
The next morning, Jenna Holloway forgot all about the stupid laundry basket.
She was too busy sprinting across campus with half-finished coffee in one hand and a half-finished essay in the other. Rain drizzled again, her backpack zipper broke mid-run, and by the time she stumbled into Philosophy 201, she looked like she'd been through a hurricane.
Naturally, Theo Mercer was already there, sitting in the back row like a smug king surveying his kingdom. He gave her a once-over and mouthed, "Nice look."
She responded with a very mature middle finger hidden behind her book.
The rest of the day wasn't much better. Her umbrella inverted in the wind, she spilled marinara sauce on her favorite jeans at lunch, and she bombed a pop quiz in International Relations. By the time her last class ended, she was so wrung out she could barely drag herself back to Hawthorne Hall.
She didn't even remember her laundry until she was halfway down the basement stairs.
"Ugh," she groaned aloud. She really didn't need moldy towels on top of everything else.
The basement was empty except for the familiar low rumble of the dryers. Jenna dumped her laundry into her basket, turning to leave — and then she saw it.
The basket.
The one in the corner.
The note basket.
And sitting right on top, in plain sight, was a neatly folded piece of paper with a familiar scrap of receipt tucked under it — her receipt from yesterday.
Someone had written back.
Jenna glanced over her shoulder, as if checking for hidden cameras, before snatching up the note.
In sharp, blocky handwriting, it said:
"Heavy hoodies build strong shoulders. Hang in there."
She blinked. A slow, bewildered smile crept onto her face.
Someone had seen her message. Someone had cared enough to respond.
And, somehow, the short, simple words hit harder than any pep talk or late-night rant session with her roommate ever had.
She tucked the note into her hoodie pocket and stood there, staring at the basket.Should she write back?
Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled a crumpled flyer out of her bag — leftover from the art fair — and scribbled quickly:
"Thanks, stranger. Not sure if I'm getting stronger or just better at pretending. What's your story?"
She signed it — impulsively — "— Star".
It was silly. Probably a little too earnest.But there was something addictive about talking to someone without worrying about the expectations attached to your name, your GPA, your resume, your endless fight to prove yourself.
She folded the new note and dropped it into the basket.
As Jenna turned to leave, the door to the laundry room swung open — and in walked Theo Mercer, carrying a bundle of towels and looking like he owned the place.
They locked eyes.
Jenna's heart thudded, irrationally guilty.
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Leaving already? Don't want to start another dryer turf war?"
"Maybe I've matured," she shot back.
He smirked. "Doubtful."
She brushed past him, chin high, pulse pounding.
If only she knew: the real turf war was only just beginning.
Because somewhere in that same laundry room, he would find her new note.And he would decide to write back.
Neither of them realizing they were already tangled together in a story that had barely begun.
Theo Mercer didn't believe in fate.He believed in logic, statistics, and caffeine.
So, when he returned to the Hawthorne laundry room that Thursday evening — damp towels slung over his shoulder, earbuds in, already planning out his debate rebuttals — he had zero reason to notice the basket in the corner.
Until he tripped over it.
"Damn it," he muttered, nearly sending half his laundry flying. He caught himself on the dryer, then glared at the innocent-looking wicker offender.
He bent to push it back into the shadows, but paused when he saw the edge of a paper fluttering from inside. Curious, he reached in and pulled it out.
A flyer, with messy but sharp handwriting.
"Thanks, stranger. Not sure if I'm getting stronger or just better at pretending. What's your story? — Star"
Theo blinked.
Was this a game? A joke? Some kind of weird RA-run bonding exercise?
But something about the message stuck with him. Maybe it was the honesty, or the vulnerability hidden between the lines. It felt... real.
And after a day full of performance — class discussions, club meetings, smiling like he wasn't one bad grade away from a scholarship cut — something real felt kind of nice.
He sat on the edge of the folding table, rummaged through his backpack, and tore a page from an old Econ reading.
Pen tapping against his lip, he wrote:
"I don't think pretending is the same as faking. Sometimes it's just surviving.Guess I'm good at surviving — most days.You can call me North."
He hesitated, then added:
"Tell me something no one else knows about you. I'll trade you next time."
Theo folded the note in half, gently placed it back in the basket, and stood up.
It was stupid. Pointless. He'd probably never hear from this "Star" person again.
Still... as he threw his towels into the machine and pressed START, he caught himself glancing over his shoulder at the corner basket.
Just once.
Just to check.
Saturday Morning
Jenna returned to the laundry room in a hoodie and pajama pants, pretending she wasn't wildly nervous. She waited until the room was empty, then darted to the basket.
The note was there.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
"I don't think pretending is the same as faking. Sometimes it's just surviving..."
She read it three times.
"North," she whispered.
There was something steadying about the way he wrote. No fluff, no fake optimism — just truth. Sharp-edged but careful. Like walking barefoot on glass that someone had kindly swept into a safe path.
Her breath caught on the final line.
"Tell me something no one else knows about you."
She stared down at her hands.
Then pulled out her sketchbook — the one she never showed anyone. She tore out a page, one corner curled and smudged from a forgotten coffee stain.
And she wrote:
*"Sometimes I imagine disappearing. Not because I want to be gone — just to see who would actually notice.I draw these places I'll never visit, just to pretend I belong somewhere I don't have to prove myself every second.That's probably darker than I meant it to be. Sorry.
What's your secret, North?"*
She paused. Then, with a little smile, drew a simple star in the corner of the page — lopsided and human.
"— Star"
As Jenna walked out of the laundry room, she didn't notice Theo entering from the other stairwell — just minutes behind her, earbuds in, sleeves pushed up, humming quietly to himself.
They passed each other like strangers.
But in the basket they shared, a secret friendship — no, something more — was beginning to bloom.
And the irony?
They still couldn't stand each other in real life.
The laundry basket became their secret world.
Every two or three days, there'd be a new note tucked between forgotten socks and lonely gloves. Always folded. Always signed — Star and North.
They talked about everything and nothing.Favorite smells (Star: fresh rain; North: old bookstores).Worst fears (Star: disappearing; North: disappointing people who believed in him).Secret talents (Star: juggling; North: cooking exactly three things well).
Each note felt like a tether pulling them closer across a distance they couldn't yet measure.
Meanwhile, In Real Life...
Theo Mercer and Jenna Holloway were locked in the most ridiculous cold war Hawthorne Hall had ever seen.
It started when Theo "accidentally" erased Jenna's debate board outline in the student lounge and replaced it with doodles of frogs.
It escalated when Jenna "accidentally" swapped the labels on Theo's laundry soap and fabric softener. (He walked around smelling like a spring meadow for two days.)
Their arguments were legendary.
"Is it physically painful for you to be this arrogant, Mercer?"
"Only when I'm in the presence of self-righteousness, Holloway. So yeah, it's agony right now."
And yet, somehow, they kept ending up in the same places — same group projects, same campus coffee shop, even the same late-night laundry runs.
Theo liked to tell himself he just liked winning.Jenna told herself she just hated injustice.
Neither of them wanted to admit how their fights left them weirdly energized, heart racing long after the words had cooled.
One Rainy Tuesday
Jenna sat cross-legged on her bed, a new letter from North spread across her lap.
"If I could, I'd build a raft out of everything I'm scared of and set it on fire. Maybe then I'd stop feeling like I'm drowning in it.Anyway. Enough dramatics. Tell me your most irrational fear."
She laughed, the kind of small, surprised laugh that came from somewhere deep.
She scribbled back immediately:
"I'm scared of dropping my phone in the toilet.And of parallel parking while people are watching.And of being 'too much' for someone to handle."
*"Also, spiders. Obviously.
What about you, North? What keeps you up at night — besides laundry room mysteries?"*
She folded it carefully and slipped it into the basket that night, heart buzzing.
Just as she was about to leave, the door swung open.
Theo stood there, backpack slung over one shoulder, soaked from the rain.
For a second, they just stared at each other, caught in some weird, silent tension.
Then he smirked — the annoying, infuriating, insufferable smirk she knew too well.
"Leaving love notes for your laundry?" he teased.
Heat rose to her cheeks. "At least my socks match."
"Low blow, Holloway," he said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. "After you."
She brushed past him, trying not to think about how he smelled like rain and detergent.
Trying not to think about how North made her feel safe......and how Theo made her feel something else entirely.
Maybe it was rage.Maybe it was adrenaline.Maybe it was something she didn't have words for yet.
Either way, it was getting harder to separate the two.
And the spin cycle was only getting faster.
By week four of the note exchange, Star and North were no longer strangers.
They had never exchanged real names, but they now shared a growing collection of invisible threads — fears, jokes, sketches, inside references. It was the kind of closeness that crept up slowly, like sunlight warming a cold windowpane.
But in real life, Theo and Jenna's mutual dislike had reached legendary status.
So much so that other students had started placing bets.
"Enemies to lovers, two weeks max.""Nah. They'll destroy each other before that."
Neither Theo nor Jenna knew about the betting pool, of course.They were too busy throwing metaphorical punches.
Thursday, 6:12 PM — Campus Café
Jenna stood in line, focused on her phone. She was drafting her next letter to North:
"If you could ask one question and be guaranteed a true answer, what would you ask?"
She bit her lip. Too serious?
Someone behind her bumped her shoulder. She turned — and almost groaned aloud.
Theo Mercer. Hoodie, rain-flattened hair, earbuds hanging around his neck.
"Of course it's you," she muttered.
"I could say the same," he replied, eyeing her screen. "Texting your fan club?"
"You'd be lucky to have fans."
He smirked. "I'm charming. In a misunderstood genius sort of way."
"You're impossible."
They both stepped forward — and tripped over the same cracked tile in the café floor.
Theo's arm shot out instinctively, grabbing her elbow. Jenna grabbed his shoulder. They teetered like idiots for a split second before regaining balance.
For one unguarded moment, they were ridiculously close — inches apart, staring at each other in shock.
"Careful," he said, voice low.
"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, wrenching her arm back. "I didn't fall for you. Just near you."
Theo's grin tilted wider. "Yet."
Jenna made a sound like a dying tea kettle and turned back toward the counter.
Later That Night — Laundry Room
Theo crouched by the basket, pulling out Star's latest note. Her handwriting was loopier this time. A little rushed. Still familiar.
"If you could ask one question and be guaranteed a true answer, what would you ask?"
He sat down on the dryer, pen already in hand.
"That's a terrifying question. Truth without context can be a dangerous thing.""But fine. I'd ask: 'If I disappeared tomorrow, would you miss me — or just the version of me you liked?'"
"Your turn. But only if you're brave."
He hesitated, then added something else — quieter, almost sheepish.
"P.S. Something about your writing feels familiar. Not bad-familiar. Just... like I should know who you are. Do I?"— North
He folded the letter carefully, hand hovering over the basket.
Part of him wanted to know who Star was. The other part didn't. Knowing might ruin it. Or make it too real.
Still... the curiosity was eating him alive.
The Next Morning — Group Project Chaos
Of all the possible teammates for her Sociology presentation, Jenna had been assigned Theo.
Theo freaking Mercer.
"I'm dropping this class," she declared to her roommate.
"You've got a B-plus," her roommate replied. "Suffer."
Suffer, she did.
Working with Theo was like trying to negotiate with a brick wall — if the brick wall used big words and smiled like it was winning a secret game.
They bickered over slide fonts, sources, transition styles.
"You're literally editing my bullet points while I'm presenting them."
"That's because you used Comic Sans."
"One time."
They stayed late in the library that night, both refusing to give ground, both too stubborn to leave.
Somewhere between arguing over citations and fighting for the last outlet, they fell asleep side by side on opposite ends of the same couch.
Jenna woke first, groggy and confused. Theo was slumped in the corner, mouth slightly open, a notebook in his lap.
She caught herself staring at him — not angrily. Just... staring.
Something about the way he looked when he wasn't trying to win.
Peaceful. Tired. Human.
She shook her head and left quietly, heart annoyingly unsettled.
By now, Star and North were falling for each other — on paper.
And in the real world, something was cracking in the wall between Jenna and Theo.
They just didn't realize... they were the same person.
Yet.
It was getting harder to keep the lines from blurring.
By now, Jenna looked forward to every visit to the laundry room with something like nervous excitement. She timed her loads carefully, tried to arrive when the basement was empty, and always brought paper tucked in her sleeve — just in case North had written back.
He always had.
She was starting to crave his words.
But more than that, she was starting to need them.
Especially after days when Theo Mercer pushed every one of her buttons, then left her wondering — hours later — why her heart wouldn't stop racing after their fights.
Sunday, 9:27 PM
Theo sat in his dorm room, chewing his pen. His fingers tapped restlessly against his laptop. He was supposed to be finishing a report for Political Theory. Instead, he kept glancing toward the clock.
9:30.
He couldn't help himself.
He grabbed his hoodie and notebook and headed for the laundry room, pretending this had nothing to do with her — with Star — with the fact that he now looked forward to their notes more than any club, class, or competition.
Sunday, 9:33 PM
Jenna hurried down the stairs, heart pounding, eyes on the old basket.
There it was — a folded note resting right on top, like a present just for her.
She reached for it — just as the door creaked open behind her.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Panicking, she grabbed the note and ducked behind the old vending machine. Her back pressed to the cold metal, she held her breath.
Theo's voice floated into the room.
"Laundry, my old nemesis," he muttered, tossing a hamper down.
She froze.
Theo?
She peeked out just slightly. He was walking toward the basket.
Her basket.
Jenna's heart dropped into her stomach as she watched him crouch and... look inside.
Oh no.
No no no no.
He picked up one of her older notes — one that must have slipped to the side.
Jenna bit her knuckle to keep from gasping. What if he read it? What if he recognized something?
But Theo just stared at it for a moment. Then slowly placed it back in the basket, pulled out a pen, and wrote a new note — right there, on the dryer door.
He looked serious. Thoughtful. Not the smug, snarky Theo she knew upstairs.
Jenna couldn't move. Couldn't think.
This wasn't Theo the rival.
This was North.
He had to be.
She was two seconds from blurting it out — "It's me. I'm Star." — when his phone buzzed.
He checked it, groaned, and stood. "Back to academic doom," he muttered, and slipped out the door before she could even move.
Jenna stayed frozen behind the vending machine, brain spiraling.
It couldn't be. Could it?
She clutched the new note to her chest and finally unfolded it.
"I think I might be falling for someone I don't even know the name of.They've never seen my face, but somehow, they've seen the rest of me more clearly than anyone else.I don't know what to do with that."
— North
Jenna stared at the words.
Heart pounding. Mind racing.
And suddenly, everything about Theo — the stubbornness, the hidden softness, the way he fought like it mattered — made a terrifying, thrilling kind of sense.
She was falling for him.He was falling for her.
And neither of them knew — not quite yet — that the truth was closer than ever.
Jenna couldn't sleep.
North's words replayed over and over in her head:
"I think I might be falling for someone I don't even know the name of..."
But she did know.Or at least… she was 90% sure.And the possibility — that the boy she hated and the boy she trusted were the same person — made her stomach twist into something unrecognizable.
She needed proof.
Because if Theo was North, then everything — every insult, every argument, every smirk and sarcastic quip — had a second meaning.
And that was almost too much to process.
Monday Morning — The Group Project Meeting
They met in the student lounge again, same table, same tension.
Jenna sat across from Theo, watching him over the rim of her coffee.
He was flipping through a folder, lips pressed together in concentration.
He chews the end of his pen when he's nervous... just like North.
He pauses before saying something honest... just like North.
She couldn't not see it now.
"Why are you staring at me?" he asked suddenly, glancing up.
Jenna blinked. "What? I wasn't."
"You were doing that thing where you squint like you're solving a math problem."
"I don't squint."
"You squint." He leaned back in his chair, amused. "What, finally realizing I'm right about the structure of the presentation?"
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her panic. "Just wondering how someone so smug hasn't been punched yet."
He gave a small, lopsided grin — not the usual smug one. Softer.
It made her heart hiccup.That smile... it looked exactly like the way North sounded.
That Evening — A Test
Jenna left a new note in the basket.
"Hypothetical: You find out someone you've been writing to... is someone you already know. Someone you thought you disliked. What do you do?"
"Or more importantly — what if you've already fallen for them?"
She didn't sign it. She didn't even use the name Star.
Let him feel the shift.
Let him recognize it.
And if he did?
Maybe then she'd be brave enough to tell him the truth.
Theo's Dorm, 11:47 PM
Theo stared at the new note on his desk.
Unfolded. Bare. Haunting.
He read it five times.
"...someone you thought you disliked..."
He had one name in mind.
Only one.
And his stomach sank — not with dread, but with realization.
Could it be...?
Jenna Holloway.
It made so much stupid sense.The fierce way she argued. The way her eyes sparked when she was passionate about something.The way she looked at people like she was searching for their real selves — and sometimes, he felt like she saw his, even when he didn't want her to.
Could she really be Star?
He opened his notebook and wrote:
"If I told you I think I know who you are… would you tell me I'm wrong? Or would you finally look me in the eye?"
"Because I think I've already fallen for you. And that terrifies me more than any debate round or final exam ever could."
"— North"
He placed the letter in the basket, closed the lid, and sat back — pulse hammering in his throat.
He was either about to lose everything.
Or gain something he didn't know he'd been waiting for.
In the silence between them, the truth now hovered — not far, not hidden.
One more note. One more moment.
And the mask would finally fall.
The next twenty-four hours stretched like a thread pulled taut.
Jenna checked the basket three times that day. The first two times, there was nothing.The third time, her heart skipped.
There it was. His reply.
Her hands shook as she unfolded the letter.
"If I told you I think I know who you are… would you tell me I'm wrong? Or would you finally look me in the eye?"
"Because I think I've already fallen for you. And that terrifies me more than any debate round or final exam ever could."
She stared at the words for a long time.
Then she laughed — one of those startled, breathless, how-is-this-my-life laughs.
And then she panicked.
Because it was real now.
It wasn't a mystery, or a fantasy, or some poetic exchange between two anonymous hearts.It was her.It was him.
Star was Jenna.North was Theo.
And they were completely, maddeningly, undeniably in love.
Tuesday, 6:04 PM — Campus Debate Room
They were supposed to meet for a project check-in. Jenna was already there, pacing. Her palms were sweaty. Her heart was doing gymnastics.
Theo walked in five minutes late, hoodie slightly crooked, hair a mess.
They looked at each other.
He knew.
She knew.
Neither spoke for several long seconds.
"Hi," Jenna finally said.
Theo's lips twitched. "Hi."
Another silence. This one heavier. Softer.
"You left the note," she said quietly.
"You wrote the first one."
He stepped closer. "I kept hoping it was you. But I didn't want it to be."
Jenna frowned. "Why?"
"Because," he said, almost laughing, "it would mean I've been in love with the girl who thinks I'm a condescending jerk."
"You are a condescending jerk."
"True," he admitted. "But you also drive me insane. In the best, most unbearable way."
She crossed her arms — half defensive, half trying to keep from shaking. "You lied to me."
"So did you."
They stared at each other, tension thick as thunderclouds.
And then, everything broke open.
Jenna moved first. One step. Then another.
She shoved the letter against his chest.
"You're lucky I'm into emotionally constipated disaster men," she said.
And then — finally — she kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't slow. It was messy and furious and absolutely perfect. Four weeks of tension igniting like a dropped match.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Theo whispered, "So... I'm forgiven?"
Jenna grinned. "Not even close."
But she was laughing now — the kind of laugh that cracked her chest open.
Later that night, back in the laundry room, they sat on top of the machines, legs swinging.
"I feel like I should've known it was you," Theo said, nudging her with his knee. "You always corrected my grammar in the notes."
Jenna smirked. "You always left crumpled receipts in the basket. Real subtle."
They sat in silence for a while, fingers laced.
"I liked being North," he admitted. "He said things I never had the guts to say out loud."
"I liked being Star," she said. "She didn't have to fight so hard to be understood."
"Well," Theo said, tilting his head toward her, "maybe now we don't have to pretend anymore."
Jenna looked at him, really looked — the arrogant, brilliant, ridiculous boy she couldn't stand... and the one she couldn't stop falling for.
And for once, she didn't feel like she had to argue.