Elara Quinn hauled the last box up the stairwell of Hawthorne Hall, her sneakers squeaking against the polished linoleum that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and fresh paint. Sweat trickled down her spine, soaking the hem of her black tank top. She paused on the third-floor landing, catching her breath, and glanced at the room number taped to the door: 312. Her new home for the year. Or prison, depending on how the roommate lottery turned out.
She shoved the door open with her hip. The room hit her like a half-developed photo, sharp in places, blurry in others. Two twin beds pushed against opposite walls. One already claimed, sheets tucked with military precision, a stack of textbooks on the desk like soldiers at attention. The other side is bare, waiting for her chaos.
A girl stood by the window, back turned, unpacking a duffel bag. Tall. Athletic build that spoke of mornings spent pounding pavement instead of nursing hangovers. Her hair fell in a dark braid down her back, ends brushing the waistband of grey joggers. She moved with purpose, folding clothes into drawers that clicked shut like punctuation marks.
Elara dropped her box with a thud. The girl spun around, eyes wide for a split second before narrowing into something guarded. Brown eyes, deep like wet earth after rain. A faint scar sliced through her left eyebrow, thin and pale.
"You must be Elara." The girl's voice carried a soft lilt, Puerto Rican roots maybe, wrapped in careful college neutrality. She extended a hand. "Nova Reyes. Looks like we're stuck together."
Elara gripped it. Calluses on Nova's palm, runner's hands. Her own fingers smeared with ink from the Sharpie she'd used to label boxes. "Stuck. Yeah. That's one way to put it." She let go and surveyed the room again. "You pick sides yet?"
Nova gestured to the made bed. "Window. I run early. Need the light to wake up without an alarm."
"Perfect. I shoot late. Need the dark to crash without guilt." Elara kicked the door shut behind her and started unpacking. Clothes first, dumped into the empty dresser without folding. Then her camera bag, handled like fragile bones. The Leica M6, her grandmother's before it became hers, nestled in foam that smelled of old leather and developer chemicals.
Nova watched from her side, arms crossed. "Photography major?"
"Sophomore. You?"
"Urban planning. Also sophomore." Nova's gaze flicked to the camera. "That's vintage. Film?"
"Digital's for cowards." Elara lifted it out, checked the lens cap. "Film forces you to think before you click. No delete button to save your ass."
Nova smiled, small and polite. "Efficient. I like that."
Elara snorted. "Efficient. Right." She set the camera on her desk and dug deeper into the box. Posters next. One of the graffiti-covered walls in Seoul, shot during her gap year backpacking with nothing but a rail pass and bad decisions. Another of empty subway cars at 4 a.m., lights streaking like comets.
Nova unpacked her own wall art. Blueprints. Rolled tight, secured with rubber bands. She unrolled one on her bed: a proposed rooftop garden for some campus building, sketches precise, labels in neat block letters.
"Those are yours?" Elara leaned over.
"Yeah. Summer internship project. Trying to convince the admin to green the dorms." Nova smoothed a corner. "Vireo City's concrete jungle. Needs more lungs."
Elara studied the lines. Straight. Purposeful. Nothing wasted. "You draw like you fold sheets. Everything in its place."
Nova shrugged. "Chaos breeds anxiety. Order keeps the panic at bay."
Interesting. Elara filed that away. She hung her posters with pushpins that scratched the paint. Nova winced but said nothing.
They worked in parallel silence for a while. Elara's side erupted into a controlled mess: books stacked crooked, fairy lights tangled until she sorted them. Nova's remained pristine. Even her trash went into a small bin lined with a fresh bag.
Elara pulled out her laptop last, plugged it in. The screen flickered to life on a desktop cluttered with folders: "Seoul Nights," "High School Regrets," "Poetry - Do Not Open." She clicked that last one shut fast when Nova glanced over.
"Hungry?" Nova asked suddenly. "Caf's open till eight."
Elara's stomach growled traitorously. She'd skipped lunch for the drive in. "Starving. But I gotta shower first. Road dust."
Nova nodded. "Bathroom's down the hall. Communal. Bring flip-flops."
"Joy." Elara grabbed her kit: towel, soap that smelled like pine and regret, shampoo in a bottle half-empty from too many hostels.
The hallway buzzed with move-in chaos. Doors propped open, music spilling out. A guy in a fraternity shirt high-fived someone across the way. Elara slipped past, claimed a shower stall. Hot water hit her skin like forgiveness. She scrubbed hard, watching dirt swirl down the drain.
Back in the room, towel-dried hair curling wild, she found Nova had changed into jeans and a fitted tee. Simple. Effective. The shirt hugged curves earned from track miles, not gym mirrors.
"Ready?" Nova asked.
They walked to the caf together. Campus sprawled under late summer sun, glass buildings of Vireo U reflecting sky like accusations. Students milled, parents hugged goodbye. Elara snapped a mental photo: Nova's profile against the quad, braid catching light.
Inside the caf, lines snaked. They grabbed trays. Elara loaded hers: burger, fries, soda. Comfort food. Nova chose salad, grilled chicken, and water. Discipline.
They found a table by the window. Ate mostly quietly at first. Then Nova broke it. "Where are you from?"
"Here and there. Mom's Korean, dad's whoever. Grew up in the city outskirts. You?"
"San Juan till twelve, then Jersey. Track scholarship got me here." Nova speared a tomato. "You run?"
"Only from feelings." Elara bit her burger. Juice dripped. She wiped her chin. "Photography keeps me moving. Chasing light."
Nova laughed softly. "Light doesn't run. It waits."
"Poetic for an urban planner."
"I read. Sometimes." Nova's eyes flicked up. Held. Something shifted in the air, subtle as a shutter click.
They talked more. Classes. Professors to avoid. The queer mixer next week, both pretending casual interest. Elara mentioned her poetry, waved it off as "scribbles." Nova shared her anxiety meds, tucked in a drawer like a secret shame.
Back in the dorm, evening settled. Elara strung her lights. Golden glow softened the room. Nova studied at her desk, highlighter gliding smoothly.
Elara flopped on her bed, camera in hand. "Mind if I test the light?"
Nova looked up. "On what?"
"You. If you're cool." Elara held it up. "Just a portrait. For my series on strangers who aren't."
Nova hesitated. Then nodded. "Sure. But no posting."
"Scout's honour." Elara adjusted the settings. Nova sat straighter, hands in lap. Click. The shutter sounded loud in the quiet.
"Relax." Elara moved closer. "Think of something that makes you smile for real."
Nova's lips curved. Genuine. Eyes softened. Click. Click.
"Better." Elara reviewed the screen. Nova looked... alive. Vulnerable under the perfection.
"Your turn." Nova stood, reached for the camera. Surprise.
Elara handed it over. Sat on her bed. Nova fiddled with dials, brow furrowed.
"I'm shit at this."
"Just point and shoot." Elara leaned back, arms behind her head. The tank is riding up a bit. Skin exposed.
Nova lifted the camera. Focused. Her breath caught, almost audible. Click.
Elara grinned. "How do I look?"
"Like trouble." Nova lowered it. Cheeks flushed? Hard to tell in the light.
They traded a few more shots. Laughing now. Easier. The room felt smaller, warmer.
Night deepened. Nova yawned first. "Early run tomorrow."
Elara nodded. "I'll try not to snore."
They changed separately. Elara is in the bathroom, and Nova is behind her closet door. Modest. Elara emerged in shorts and an old band tee. Nova in tank and pyjama pants, braid undone, hair waving loose.
Lights out. Fairy glow is the only illumination. Elara stared at the ceiling. Nova's breathing evened quickly.
But then. A rustle. Nova sat up. "Forgot something."
She crossed the room in the darkness. Elara's eyes adjusted. Nova bent over her bag. Searching. Her tank rode up as she reached. Smooth skin on her back. Curve of the hip. The air thickened.
Elara's camera sat on her nightstand. Impulse hit. She grabbed it. Silent mode. Lifted. Focused on Nova's form, bent, unaware. The lines of her body are like architecture waiting to be mapped.
Click.
The flash exploded. White. Blinding.
Nova straightened fast. Spun. Eyes wide in the afterimage. She wore only the tank now, pants kicked off in the search? No. Wait. She'd been changing. Fully. The flash caught her mid-motion. Bare. Everything.
"Fuck!" Nova grabbed a sheet from her bed. Wrapped it around herself. "What the hell, Elara?"
"I... sorry. Reflex. The light was perfect." Elara lowered the camera. Heart pounding. The image burned in her mind already. Nova's body. Strong legs. There was a scar on her thigh from some old injury. Breasts are small and perfect. Dark nipples hardened from the cool air.
Nova's face flushed deep. Anger. Embarrassment. Something else flickering. "Delete it."
"I will. Promise." Elara fumbled with buttons. But she hesitated. The photo. God. It captured something raw. Not just skin. Vulnerability.
Nova stepped closer. Sheet clutched. "Now."
Their eyes locked. Awkward silence stretched. Charged. Elara's pulse thrummed in her ears. Nova's breath came quick.
"I didn't mean..." Elara started.
"I know." Nova's voice softened. She reached for the camera. Fingers brushed Elara's. Static spark.
They stood close. Too close for strangers. The sheet slipped a fraction. Nova didn't fix it.
Elara swallowed. "You're beautiful."
Nova blinked. Then looked away. "Just delete it."
Elara did. Held the screen so Nova could see. Gone.
Tension eased. But not all. Nova returned to her bed. The sheet was abandoned for covers. Back turned.
Elara lay down. Stared at the dark. The image lingered anyway. Burned behind her eyelids. Not the nudity. The surprise in Nova's eyes. The way her body moved, fluid despite the discipline.
Sleep came slow. Dreams fragmented. Flashes. Skin. Eyes.
Morning hit with Nova's alarm. 5:30. She dressed quiet. Running gear. Slipped out without a word.
Elara woke later. Room empty. She checked her camera. The deleted photo bin. Empty. But she knew. She'd remember.
Classes started. They nodded in passing. Polite. Distant. The flash hung between them like smoke.
By evening, back in the room. Nova at her desk. Elara unpacking more.
"Sorry again," Elara said. Broke the ice.
Nova looked up. Sighed. "It's fine. Just... ask next time."
"Deal." Elara smiled. "Truce?"
Nova nodded. Smile tugged her lips. "Truce."
They ordered pizza. Shared slices on Elara's bed. Talked about everything and nothing. The mixer. Potential friends. City spots to explore.
Night again. Lights out. This time, easier silence.
But Elara's mind raced. She slipped a notebook from under her pillow. Pen scratched paper. Words spilled.
*Your skin under flash*
*like lightning in a bottle*
*caught, then released*
*but the burn stays*
She folded it small. Waited till Nova's breathing deepened. Crept across the room. Slid it under Nova's pillow.
Back in bed. Heart racing.
Morning. Nova found it. Read in silence. Looked over. Eyes met Elara's.
No words. Just a nod. Small smile.
The spark lingered. Waiting for oxygen.
They unpacked the rest of the day. Elara's clothes mixed with Nova's in the laundry basket by accident. Socks tangled. Nova separated them carefully. Elara watched her hands. Strong. Precise.
Afternoon brought rain. Thunder rumbled over Vireo. They studied together. Nova tutored Elara in calc, fingers brushing over equations. Elara explained composition, tracing lines on Nova's blueprint.
"See? Rule of thirds. Your garden needs a focal point." Elara's hand over Nova's on the paper.
Nova nodded. Didn't move away.
Evening. Power flickered. Campus wide outage from the storm. Darkness swallowed the room.
"Shit." Elara lit her phone flashlight.
Nova rummaged for candles. Found none. "Guess we share body heat if it gets cold."
Elara laughed. "Forward."
Nova blushed. Visible even in dim light.
They sat on Elara's bed. Phones dying. Talked in whispers. Secrets slipped out. Elara's mom leaving at fourteen. Nova's injury ending her Olympic dreams. Panic attacks in locker rooms.
Vulnerability bonded them. Quick.
Lights stayed out. Rain pounded windows.
Nova shivered. "Cold."
Elara opened her blanket. "Come here."
Hesitation. Then Nova slid under. Bodies close. Warmth shared.
Elara's heart hammered. Nova's head on her shoulder. Hair smelled like coconut.
Sleep tugged. But awareness crackled.
Nova's hand found Elara's in the dark. Squeezed.
No words.
Just the storm. And the beginning.
But morning brought reality. Lights on. Nova up first. Running. Distant again.
Elara developed photos in the campus darkroom later. The test shots from day one. Nova's face. Smiling. Then the accidental ones before the flash. Her changing. Blurry but there.
She printed one. Small. Hid it in her poetry notebook.
The flash that lingered. It started everything.
They navigated the week. Classes. Meals. Shared fridge space. Elara stole a mango from Nova's shelf. Left a note: *Borrowed. Will replace with interest.*
Nova retaliated with Elara's coffee mug. Filled with tea. *Interest paid. Herbal.*
Laughter echoed.
The queer mixer loomed. Both signed up. Pretended separate.
But in the room, tension built. Glances held longer. Brushes accidental on purpose.
Elara wrote more poems. Slipped them under doors, in textbooks.
Nova read them. Smiled secret.
One night. Late. Elara editing photos. Nova studying.
"Read this." Elara handed over a print. Not the nude. A portrait. Nova laughing.
Nova traced her own face. "You see me."
"Yeah." Elara's voice rough. "I do."
Eyes locked. Room shrank.
Nova leaned in. Slow. Elara met her halfway.
Lips brushed. Soft. Testing.
Then deeper. Hunger unleashed.
Hands roamed. Under shirts. Skin on skin.
They broke apart. Breathing hard.
"What are we doing?" Nova whispered.
"No idea." Elara grinned. "But don't stop."
They didn't. Not that night. Clothes shed. Bodies explored. First tastes. Gasps muffled in pillows.
Morning after. Awkward. Smiles shy.
But the spark caught. Flame rising.
And Vireo City watched. Waiting for the burn.