Chapter 2 : The beginning
Daphne's pov
I still remember dragging that oversized suitcase up the apartment stairs, already sweaty and regretting everything about choosing an off-campus place instead of a dorm. My arms ached, my hair was sticking to my neck, and I was silently praying that whoever my new roommate was wouldn't be home to witness my disaster of an arrival.
Of course, he was.
The door creaked open before I could even fish out the keys the landlord had given me. A guy leaned casually against the doorframe, tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that made him look instantly approachable.
"You must be Daphne," he said, voice warm and easy. "Need a hand?"
I froze for a second. I'd expected… I don't know, maybe a girl roommate, or at least someone a little less put-together. Instead, there he was: Ethan. My new apartment-mate.
"Uh, yeah," I managed, pushing the suitcase toward him. "I was about to collapse."
He chuckled, lifting the suitcase like it weighed nothing. "You call this heavy? I've carried worse for my sister. Come on, I'll show you your room."
That was it. No awkward silence, no fumbling introductions. Just immediate ease. Ethan moved around the apartment like he'd already decided it was his job to make me feel at home. He pointed out the kitchen ("Fair warning, I burn toast but I make decent pasta"), the shared living room ("Don't mind the old couch, it came with the place"), and finally, my room.
When I set my bag down on the bed, he lingered at the doorframe, grinning. "So, what brings you here? Besides the whole college thing, obviously."
It should've been small talk, but somehow it wasn't. I found myself telling him more than I'd planned — about Daniel, my long-distance boyfriend, about how nervous I was to start fresh here, about how I wasn't sure I'd made the right choice leaving the dorms. Ethan just listened, nodding, sometimes throwing in a joke that made me laugh despite myself.
By the end of that first night, we'd ordered takeout, swapped stories, and it already felt less like moving in with a stranger and more like… finding someone I could trust.
I didn't know then how close we'd get. Or how blurry "trust" could become.
But I knew, even that first day, that Ethan was going to matter.
Ethan's pov
I wasn't expecting her to look like that.
When the landlord told me my new apartment-mate was moving in today, I figured it would be some quiet, studious type I'd barely talk to. I wasn't planning on being nosy, but the thump of a suitcase against the stairs was too loud to ignore. I opened the door, ready to offer help, and there she was — red-faced from the effort, strands of hair sticking to her cheek, fighting with luggage almost as big as her.
"Need a hand?" I asked before I could stop myself.
The way she froze made me grin. She had that wide-eyed, caught-off-guard look, but there was something in it that tugged at me. She nodded quickly, passing the suitcase over like it had betrayed her.
I hoisted it up with ease, partly to help, partly because I wanted to make her smile. And when she did — small, tired, but real — I knew this was going to be different.
I showed her around, doing my usual spiel about the place, throwing in a couple of jokes to keep things light. She laughed more easily than I expected. It felt… easy. Natural. Like she'd already been here before.
When she sat on the edge of her bed, I leaned against the doorframe, studying her without meaning to. She looked nervous, like she was carrying more than just luggage. So I asked why she'd chosen this apartment. She answered saying it was the nearest to the school since all the dorms were full.I asked her a few other questions and we had a great conversation getting to know each other.
That's when she mentioned him. The boyfriend. Daniel.
I nodded like it didn't matter, but it stuck with me — the way her voice softened when she said his name, the way her eyes darted like she was already second-guessing the distance between them. I told myself I didn't care. I barely knew her. But some part of me filed it away anyway.
We ended up ordering takeout, trading stories like we'd known each other longer than a few hours. Watching her laugh across the table, I thought: This is going to be trouble.
Not the bad kind. The kind you secretly want.