Twisted College Life: Trapped Among Three Men

“Emma, are you seriously posting that?”

I froze outside the half-open door to room 237, Emma’s laughter spilling into the hallway. I hadn’t planned on eavesdropping, but the words slammed into me like a cold wave.

“Relax,” Emma was saying, her voice bright and bubbly. “It’s just a pic of Noah and Lila at the bonfire. They’re cute together, right?”

My breath caught.

The handle of my suitcase dug into my palm as my grip tightened. Of all the conversations I could’ve walked in on, it had to be about them.

My ex with another girl. Cute together.

A muffled voice answered through the phone, followed by Emma’s giggle. “Yeah, I know! I still can’t believe it either.”

The ache that had been sitting in my chest all summer flared hot and sharp. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, then pushed the door open before I could chicken out.

Emma jumped, nearly dropping her phone. “Nat!” She scrambled off her bed and rushed over, arms wide. “You’re here! Oh my God, you scared me.”

I forced a smile and let her hug me, breathing in her familiar vanilla perfume. “Sorry. Door was open.”

She pulled back, her eyes scanning my face, her smile faltering. “You look… tired. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said too quickly, dropping my suitcase by my bed with a heavy thud.

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. The truth was, I’d sat in my car for twenty minutes in the parking lot, staring at this building like it was a battlefield I wasn’t ready to cross.

Emma perched on the edge of her perfectly made bed. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”

“Traffic,” I said, my voice flat.

She nodded, though her gaze lingered on the dark circles under my eyes, on the slight tremor in my hands. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then shut it again.

I unzipped my suitcase and started unpacking, using the task as a shield.

Every piece of clothing I pulled out felt like it belonged to someone else—the girl I’d been last spring, before everything had blown up.

“So…” Emma began carefully, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “How was your summer? After… y’know.”

My hands stilled on a folded sweater. I didn’t look up. “After what?”

“You know,” she said softly. “After Noah.”

The name sliced through the room like a blade. I shoved the sweater into a drawer with more force than necessary. “It was fine. Ancient history.”

In the mirror above Emma’s desk, I saw her bite her lip, clearly unconvinced. “If you ever wanna talk about it—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was sharp and painful. Emma’s shoulders hunched, and guilt washed over me. I took a shaky breath. “Sorry. I just… I’m trying to move forward.”

She gave a small nod. “Of course. And for what it’s worth? Everyone thinks he’s an