Rachel had never resented daylight before.
But that morning, the sun pouring through the dorm blinds felt unforgiving, illuminating every restless thought she carried. She hadn't slept well, her mind still tangled in the risk she'd taken the night before—the moment she'd dared to explore herself, only to be pulled back by the sound of footsteps. The memory left her unsteady, like a wire sparking too close to her heart.
In her English lecture, she sat with her pen frozen above her notebook as Professor Lane's voice droned on about metaphor. His words blurred into static, impossible to grasp.
Her thoughts were louder than the lecture, pulling her inward.
She'd always found refuge in school—neat notes, orderly grades, a mind sharp and focused. But today, her heart outshouted her brain, restless and insistent. She shifted in her seat, the denim of her jeans brushing her skin, amplifying her unease. She bit her lip, hoping no one noticed her distraction.
And then her eyes wandered.
Two rows ahead, Jenna sat with her chin propped on her hand, scrolling through her phone beneath the desk, barely pretending to take notes. Her auburn hair slid over her shoulder, catching the light, and when she shifted, her skirt hem lifted slightly, revealing a casual ease Rachel envied.
Rachel's breath caught.
She'd noticed Jenna before, but never like this—never with a pang that felt sharp and forbidden. Jenna's easy confidence, the curve of her smile as she smirked at her screen, pulled at Rachel like a magnet. Her gaze lingered, unable to break away.
Her stomach twisted. Stop staring.
She forced her eyes to her notebook, where messy spirals crowded the page, each one darker, shakier. Her pen had nearly torn through the paper.
But her thoughts wouldn't settle. A restless energy stirred in her chest, spreading in waves that left her unsettled. She shifted again, her clothes feeling too tight, her skin too warm.
"Rachel."
Her head snapped up. Professor Lane was staring at her, eyebrow raised.
Her cheeks burned. "Yes?"
"I asked you to read the last line of the passage." He nodded at her open textbook.
Rachel's eyes darted down, but the words swam, unreadable. She stammered, her voice barely coherent. A few students snickered.
Professor Lane sighed and moved on.
Rachel sank lower in her seat, mortified. Her pen slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. As she reached for it, she risked one last glance at Jenna.
Jenna wasn't looking. But Angie, sitting beside her, was. Angie's grin was sharp, mischievous, as if she saw right through Rachel's facade.
Rachel's stomach plummeted. She focused on her notebook, scribbling nonsense, her hand trembling.
By the time class ended, her nerves were frayed. She shoved her books into her bag and hurried out, craving fresh air.
The autumn breeze cooled her skin, but it wasn't enough. She ducked behind the library, pressing her back to the cold brick wall, her breath uneven.
"Get a grip," she whispered, covering her face with her hands.
But her heart wouldn't listen. It wanted—demanded—something she couldn't ignore.
Every laugh drifting across campus felt too loud, too knowing. She thought of Jenna's ease, Angie's grin, the word Cassie had laughed about in the lounge—addictive.
Her pulse thundered.
She forced herself to move, to keep walking, to act like she wasn't unraveling. If she stopped, she feared she'd never start again.
Back in her dorm, her key slipped in the lock twice before it turned. The room was empty—blessedly empty.
She dropped her bag and collapsed onto her bed, pressing her face into her pillow, muffling a shaky sigh.
She was nineteen, a careful girl, a good girl. But nothing about this felt careful anymore.
Her thoughts were a tangle of shame and longing.
One truth rang clearer than her mother's rules, her professor's disappointment, or Angie's knowing grin:
She couldn't pretend anymore.
Whatever this was, it was here to stay.