Daphne stormed through the front doors of the dorm building like a summer storm—fast, furious, and heartbreakingly beautiful. Her curls were wild from the wind, her breath quick with panic, and in her arms she clutched a painted canvas like it was her last hope.
"Coming through! Excuse me! Move!" she snapped, weaving through startled students. Her eyes were glassy. Determined. Desperate.
She tore up the stairs, barely touching the steps. The moment she reached her room, she shoved the door open, tossed the painting onto her desk, and dropped to her knees.
"Please, please, please," she whispered to no one, ripping open drawers, rifling through books, flinging pillows like lifelines. Her hands trembled. Her heart raced. Then—finally—there it was.
The receipt.
Tears sprang to her eyes, uninvited but raw. "Yes!" she gasped, clutching it to her chest as if it might disappear. Without wasting another second, she bolted for the door.
"Excuse me! Move!" she shouted again as she flew back downstairs like her life depended on it.
And then—
Dave stepped inside.
He didn't walk in. He arrived. The air shifted. Conversations paused. Every eye in the room tilted toward him, as if his presence bent gravity. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those rich, steady eyes—locked onto her like she was the center of his orbit.
"Daphne," he said, voice smooth as velvet and warm as sunlight. "Tell me this isn't fate. I dreamed of you last night. And now, here you are—rushing into my arms like the universe wants this."
She groaned, exasperated. "Dave, I do not have time for fate today. I'm late!"
Without breaking stride, she brushed past him, heels pounding against the floor, receipt clenched tightly in her hand.
Dave, undeterred, turned and followed with a grin. "It's okay! I'll wait here until the stars align again."
Daphne rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the way her lips twitched into the beginning of a smile.
She reached the dorm director's office, heart still galloping, and raised her fist to knock—only for the door to open before she could.
Stacy, polished and unreadable as ever, stepped out. Her eyes flicked from Daphne to Dave.
"Dave," she said curtly. "Out. Now."
Dave raised his hands in surrender. "Just being a messenger of destiny, ma'am."
"Out."
He winked at Daphne as he backed away. "Don't miss me too much."
Stacy turned her attention to Daphne, expression shifting from annoyance to something colder.
"I take it you're here for a reason?"
"Yes," Daphne said, catching her breath. "Stacy, I—I know I was supposed to submit my tuition receipt this morning. I messed up. I had a really crazy night—I'm sorry, but I have it now."
Stacy folded her arms. "And what time did I say it was due?"
Daphne hesitated. Her hand slipped to her phone. The screen blinked back: 10:37 AM.
"…Ten thirty-seven," she whispered.
Stacy didn't miss a beat. "Exactly. I told you—9 AM. I've already submitted for the others who followed instructions. You—and your roommate, I might add—were the only ones who didn't. What's going on with the two of you?"
Her voice wasn't cruel, but it was laced with disappointment. And that? That stung more than anything else.
Daphne stood there frozen, receipt in hand, heart in pieces,
I'm sorry, ma'am," Daphne murmured, her voice low, her eyes wide with guilt. "It's all my fault. Jane asked me to help her submit hers and I—I completely forgot."
Stacy arched one brow, arms folded like a judgmental goddess at the gates of academic Olympus. "Mmhmm. Sounds to me like you and Jane are getting along just fine." A sly smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Didn't I tell you she wasn't so bad?"
Daphne let out a soft laugh, almost unwilling. "Well… we don't share the same taste in music—or men, thank God—but other than that… yeah. She's not bad. Actually, she's… kind of great."
She tried to play it off, but a flicker of a smile betrayed her—tender, almost admiring.
Stacy caught it and gave a knowing nod. "Good. Then I hope you're feeling generous, because your new roommate arrives today."
Daphne blinked. "I—what? No way!"
"Oh yes. And don't come back here asking to switch rooms," Stacy said, already turning away like a queen who had delivered her decree. "Her name is Mandy Ollie. She's a news caster. From Mexico—but she's lived everywhere. Paris, Morocco, Tokyo… She's basically Carmen Sandiego with a press badge."
Daphne's jaw dropped. "Wait—why can't she stay with Wendy? I mean, poor Mandy. If she hears the same rumors I heard about Jane, she might run before unpacking."
Stacy didn't miss a beat. "Not my problem." And with that, she disappeared into her office, heels clicking like punctuation marks on polished tile.
"Good morning, Daphne," came a voice soaked in syrup and smirks.
Daphne didn't even turn around. Oh no. I know that voice. I hear it in my nightmares. She spun slowly. "Hi, Wendy."
Wendy's smile sparkled with artificial charm. "Ooo, I heard about your new roommate. Mandy Ollie, right? Word is… she's been rejected from every room they've put her in. And now—voilà! She's yours."
Daphne crossed her arms. "Wendy, don't be cruel. Stacy said she's brilliant. A news caster who's lived all over the world. I think that's pretty impressive."
Wendy leaned in, her perfume somehow louder than her voice. "Sweetheart, the last girl who lived 'all over the world' kept a snake under her pillow and burned incense shaped like hands."
"Sounds like someone you'd date," Daphne said dryly.
Wendy's laugh was like glass breaking—sharp and pretty. "You're growing claws, Daphne. I'm proud."
Back in Room 30B, Jane returned ahead of her. The moment she stepped inside, she stopped in her tracks. A bold splash of color had landed on the desk—a painting.
She tilted her head, amused. "What the hell…"
The canvas was unmistakable: a shirtless football player in glorious, oiled-up detail, surrounded by a bevy of cheerleaders who looked like they walked out of a music video and into sin. The scene was bathed in gold, exaggerated and ridiculous—and somehow… strangely artistic.
Jane snorted. "Oh no.
Just as she reached for it, Daphne walked in, beaming. "Hey, Jane! How are you?"
"I'm great," Jane said, lifting the painting. "So this is what you're into, huh?"
Daphne's eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "Don't you love it?"
Jane blinked at the painting, then at Daphne. "It's… a lot."
"I think it gives the room some personality."
Jane laughed, holding it up like a relic. "Girl, this room already had personality. What it needed was peace."
"Well," Daphne said with a wink, "you wouldn't understand. It's art. And art is supposed to challenge you."
Jane walked over and hung the painting dramatically above her bed. "Oh, it's challenging me alright."
They both laughed.
"I think it's hot," Daphne said, tossing her bag on her bed. "And unapologetic."
Jane shrugged with that signature half-smirk. "Well… I've lived a little unapologetic myself."
Then Jane looked away and plopped down on her bed.
"Just don't hang a matching one of oiled-up gymnasts or I'm moving out."
Daphne grinned. "No promises."
Oh—Jane, that reminds me," Daphne said, suddenly snapping her fingers. "We're getting a new roommate."
Jane raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Who?"
"Some girl named Mandy," Daphne said with a shrug. "Honestly? I don't think you'll like her."
Jane smirked. "I'm fine with it. I've shared space with worse. I'm only sorry for her…" she added with a mischievous grin, "because now she has to live with you."
"Wow," Daphne gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me, I happen to be an amazing roommate."
"Oh yeah?" Jane said, raising a brow as she leaned against the desk. "Tell that to my missing black nail polish. Or my mysteriously glittery towel."
Daphne burst out laughing. "Okay, first of all, glitter is magic. You're welcome."
They were still teasing each other when a faint knock tapped at the door—so soft it almost sounded like wind.
Before either of them could move, the door creaked open on its own like something from a dream—or a badly written horror film.
Standing there was Mandy Ollie—a petite vision at 5'2", with short, stylish brown hair that framed her face like poetry and eyes that sparkled with restless energy. She had the kind of hourglass figure that seemed to have been sculpted by a muse with a playful sense of humor and a Pinterest board full of romance novels.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "I'm Mandy Ollie. I think I'm in Room 30B?"
Jane stepped forward with a steady calm. "Yep, that's us. I'm Jane Victor. This is Daphne."
"Hi!" Daphne waved, a little more cautious. "Welcome to the circus."
But Mandy was already on a roll. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry if I'm talking too fast, I've had so much caffeine—I mean the plane ride here was insane, we were delayed in Atlanta for three hours, and the guy next to me literally fell asleep on my shoulder and drooled—can you believe that?"
Jane raised a hand gently. "Mandy. Breathe."
Mandy froze mid-word and let out an awkward laugh. "Right. Sorry. When I meet new people I… kind of spiral."
"You'll fit in just fine," Jane said with a warm smile. "We all spiral eventually."
"Oh, you'd say that," Daphne muttered under her breath, earning a nudge from Jane.
Mandy's eyes drifted across the room and landed on The Painting—still proudly hung like a shrine to chaos and confidence. Her expression lit up like a sparkler.
"Oh wow… I love this painting. It's so bold! And weird. But like, in a good way."
Jane blinked. "You do?"
"I mean, I wouldn't hang it in a church, but yeah—it has energy."
Daphne smirked. "Told you it adds character."
Jane grinned at Mandy. "Alright, you've passed your first test. You can stay."
"Yay," Mandy whispered dramatically, throwing her arms in the air.
"Let's get you settled," Jane said, already pulling open the nearest dresser. "This drawer squeaks, that one's cursed, and whatever you do—don't drink anything in the mini-fridge unless you want to glow in the dark."
Mandy giggled. "Noted."
Later that evening, Jane swept into the room like she'd just won an award—and honestly, she wore that grin like it was gold-plated.
Her eyes sparkled. Her shoulders had that unmistakable strut of someone who had just been seen.
Mandy, perched cross-legged on her bed, looked up from her notebook. "Someone looks suspiciously happy. Did the cafeteria finally get non-toxic ketchup?"
Jane practically collapsed onto her bed, still smiling like a secret. "Forget ketchup. Try eye contact so intense it could melt steel."
"Oh?" Daphne said, arching an eyebrow from her side of the room.
Jane placed a hand over her heart like a dramatic heroine from an old film. "While I was serving dinner—sweating in polyester and dodging flying meatballs—this man… this incredible man was just… watching me."
"Watching?" Mandy echoed, suspicious and intrigued.
"Watching," Jane confirmed with a slow, satisfied smile. "Like his eyes were writing sonnets on my skin. His stare didn't just say hello—it said, 'I've waited centuries for this moment.' I was ready to kiss him right then and there, cafeteria hairnet and all."
"Please tell me you at least spoke to him," Daphne said, already hooked.
Jane shook her head. "Not a word. But when he left—I walked over to wipe down his table, and there it was."
She reached into her pocket like she was revealing a spell scroll and held up a torn piece of disposable paper. On it, written in clean, slanted handwriting:
Hi. I'm Douglas. I've made reservations.
Wednesday night. The Musa.
Daphne's jaw dropped. "The Musa? That place costs more than my entire student loan debt. They fly in their sushi on private jets."
"Exactly," Jane said, eyes gleaming. "If he orders me tempura, I might just marry him on the spot."
"Are you going to go?" Mandy asked, clutching a pillow like it was popcorn.
Jane shrugged, playing coy. "I don't know… but tomorrow morning I'm definitely restocking the paper dispenser. You never know who else might want to leave a love note."
The girls laughed, the room echoing with warmth and teasing energy.
Then Jane stood, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans. "Anyway—I gotta go call my ex."
"Your what?" Mandy sat up straight. "Wait. Ex-boyfriend?"
"Yeah," Jane replied casually, grabbing her phone. "He still owes me money. And I'm not about to let another man pay for sushi while my ex walks around debt-free."
And with that, she walked out like a woman on a mission—leaving Mandy staring after her, utterly scandalized.
Daphne slipped on her denim jacket, tousling her hair in the mirror with practiced carelessness. It was one of those evenings where everything felt loud—too many emotions, too many voices, too many memories fighting for room. She needed food… and quiet.
"I'm heading to the diner," she called out. "Maybe snag a grilled cheese and thirty seconds of peace."
But Mandy wasn't listening.
She stood frozen in the center of the room, pillow clutched to her chest like a shield, eyes wide and shimmering with disbelief.
"You… you told me Jane had a past," she said slowly, "but you didn't tell me about the—"
"Dead husband!?" she suddenly shrieked, like the words hit her spine in real time.
Daphne paused at the door, eyes twinkling, her smile crooked. "Mmmhmm."
"That's not just a red flag," Mandy sputtered. "That's a Netflix docuseries. How are you so calm about this?!"
Daphne shrugged with the cool of a woman who had already accepted the chaos and decided to make art from it. "It's Room 30B, Mandy. One minute you're decorating the walls with shirtless athletes, the next you're sipping tea with a former felon who might've been in love with a ghost."
Mandy blinked. "Wait, what?"
Daphne just grinned wider, pushing the door open, letting the hallway's warm light spill across her face like a spotlight.
"We don't do boring here, sweetheart," she said over her shoulder, "but we do secrets. And trust me—Jane's not the only one who has them."
And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Mandy standing there, stunned, whispering to herself:
"…Dead husband?"
By nightfall, Mandy had made peace with it—the chaos, the secrets, the wildly mismatched personalities of Room 30B. She wasn't just stuck with them anymore.
She chose to stay.
Because truth be told… Jane wasn't so bad. In fact, she was kind of incredible.
The room was quiet now, drenched in silver moonlight. The glow spilled in through the windows, painting soft shadows on the floor like poetry. Mandy had dimmed the lamp to a low golden hum and curled into her favorite reading position—legs crossed, book open, mind half-lost in another world.
Then the door creaked.
Jane stepped inside, her silhouette backlit by the hallway. Her boots were quiet. Her face unreadable.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," Mandy replied, not looking up at first.
Jane slipped off her coat and sat on the edge of the bed. Maddy asked "Did you get the money?"
Jane shook her head. "No. I didn't even call my ex. It just… didn't feel right."
Maddy looked over, surprised. "Then where were you?"
"I took a walk around campus. Thought a lot. Cleared my head." She paused, then said with quiet finality: "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to call Douglas. And cancel."
Mandy's eyes widened. "Cancel?"
Jane turned toward her, baffled. "Yes! Cancel.
What do you mean, cancel? How can you even think of such a thing?"
She stood up, voice rising with emotion. "You said it yourself—this man is fine. Not just hot, but present. He made you feel something, Jane. That electric feeling… of being seen. Of being wanted."
Jane looked away, jaw tight.
"The tension between you two?" Mandy continued. "It was practically peeling the paint off the walls. And you want to throw that away?"
Then her voice dropped, gentler now, but heavy. "Wait… is this about your husband?"
Jane froze.
The air shifted. Her face—composed seconds ago—cracked in silence. Her breath hitched.
"I see you've heard," she whispered. "Let me guess—Daphne?"
Mandy winced. "I wasn't supposed to say anything, but… yeah. It was her. I didn't want to lie. I'm a terrible liar. I panic and say dumb things and—anyway, yeah, it was Daphne."
Jane sighed, slow and heavy. "I trusted her. I wanted to tell you myself. But I guess… I should've known. She's just a kid."
"What?" Mandy blinked. "We're literally the same age."
"Exactly." Jane gave a bitter smile. "You're kids. Both of you."
Mandy crossed her arms, sass lighting up her face. "Oh really? And how old are you, Miss Wisdom?"
"Twenty-eight."
"Twenty-eight!?" Mandy gasped. "Damn girl, you're practically ancient!"
They both cracked up, the tension breaking like sunlight through a storm cloud.
"But seriously," Mandy added, eyes softening, "don't be mad at her. Daphne didn't mean it in a cruel way. I think she just… didn't know how heavy it really was."
Jane nodded, eyes on the floor. "Yeah. It's… a lot."
A silence settled, warm now. Full of unspoken understanding.
Then Mandy tilted her head, a wicked smile growing. "Also, before I forget…"
Jane looked up cautiously. "What now?"
"You better go see Douglas."
Jane arched a brow.
Mandy leaned closer, eyes sparkling. "Because your lips are practically begging for his kiss… and your thighs? They're craving the gentle exploration of his hands."
Jane blinked, laughing in disbelief.
"Oh—and don't even get me started on your breasts," Mandy added, fanning herself dramatically. "They've waited long enough, babe."
Jane fell back on the bed, cackling. "You're insane."
"Insanely right."
They laughed until the moonlight shifted again—until the laughter faded into something soft and safe.
And in that quiet, it wasn't about dead husbands or canceled dates or broken trust anymore.
It was just two women in the dark, figuring it all out—one breath at a time.