Some threads do not announce themselves.
They do not glow or burn or pull with urgency. They do not shimmer like promises or tighten like warnings. Some threads form quietly, settling into place with such subtlety that you only realise they exist when they have already woven themselves into your routine.
This was one of those threads.
The first few days after being paired with Anthon passed without ceremony. Lauren didn't think of him as anything other than a name attached to a project she had already mentally postponed. College life demanded more immediate attention, navigating lecture halls, surviving long queues, learning how to exist among strangers without feeling swallowed by them.
Her days followed a predictable pattern. Wake up late. Rush through morning routines. Sit through lectures that felt longer than they needed to be. Wander campus with a faint sense of disorientation. Return to the hostel exhausted in a way sleep didn't seem to fix.
Elizabeth noticed first.
"You disappear a lot," she said one evening, leaning against Lauren's bedframe while tying her scarf. "Not physically. Just… mentally."
Lauren glanced up from her phone. "Is that a complaint?"
"No," Elizabeth replied easily. "Just an observation" ...
..."You're too relaxed," Maryanne said one morning while adjusting her mirror. "That's how people miss deadlines."
Lauren shrugged. "Or survive."
Maryanne scoffed but didn't argue. That was her way of conceding.
Timaya and Diana drifted in and out of their room like weather patterns. Diana arrived loudly, laughing, talking, filling space without apology. Timaya followed quietly, observing more than she spoke, eyes sharp and thoughtful.
Timaya called Lauren "mysterious" within the first week.
Diana called her "guarded" three days later.
Lauren decided Diana was more accurate.
Somewhere between these interactions, the project existed in the background like an unopened book. Anthon had messaged once.
She hadn't opened it.
Not deliberately. Not maliciously. She had simply been tired- emotionally, socially, mentally. Her phone had become her escape, not her responsibility. Movies played softly in her ears at night, soundtracks masking the constant hum of the hostel.
It was easier not to engage.
The evening everything shifted was unremarkable at first.
The sun was low, painting the sky in muted oranges and greys. Lauren dragged herself out of bed to cook, moving slowly, conserving energy. Her roommates were already outside, plates balanced on their laps, voices overlapping in casual conversation.
Cooking finished, she dished her food carefully, already anticipating the relief of sitting down.
Then she heard it.
"Laureeeen!"
The sound sliced through the air- sharp, loud, impatient.
Her body tensed immediately.
She froze mid-step, irritation flaring hot and fast. There were few things Lauren hated more than people treating her name like something to shout carelessly, stretching it into noise rather than calling it with intention.
She ignored it.
Another shout followed, louder this time.
She turned around, walked back into her room, sat on her bed, and plugged in her earpods. If someone wanted her attention, they could ask for it properly.
Elizabeth appeared minutes later, brows raised.
"Lauren… your project partner is calling you outside."
Lauren didn't look up. "If he wants to see me, he can text me. Or send someone politely. Shouting is unnecessary."
Maryanne snorted from across the room. "Bold strategy."
The shouting continued.
Now it was accompanied by frustration, questions about why messages weren't being replied to, demands disguised as concern.
Lauren sighed, pulled her earpods out, and checked her phone.
There it was.
Three messages.
Polite. Awkward. Slightly desperate.
Hi, please what's the project topic?
Partner. Could you tell me your name?
Hey, you there??
She stared at the screen for a moment.
Then she stood.
Outside, a small crowd had gathered—not because of drama, but because noise in a hostel always attracted attention. Anthon stood near the back window, arms crossed, annoyance clear on his face.
Lauren stopped in front of him.
"What do you want?" she asked calmly.
His irritation flared. "I sent you messages. You didn't reply."
She tilted her head. "Did they say read?"
He hesitated.
"I didn't see them," she continued evenly. "And even if I had, you could've asked someone to reach me instead of shouting like your life depended on this project."
She checked her phone again. "Also, how do you not know the project topic? And how do you not know my name? It was called in class."
The crowd shifted, sensing tension.
"Yes," she added, voice firm. "I'm alive. I was eating. Until you disturbed my peace."
She turned and walked away.
Elizabeth exhaled softly behind her.
Timaya whispered, "Whew."
Diana watched silently.
Lauren didn't look back.
Inside, she sat on her bed, heart beating faster than she expected. Not from fear. From something unfamiliar- an awareness, a subtle hum beneath her irritation.
A thread.
Not bright. Not forceful. Just present.
It had formed, not with tenderness, not with warmth, but with friction. With misunderstanding. With voices raised and boundaries drawn.
And sometimes, that was how the most complicated threads began.
Quietly.
Unexpectedly.
Already tied before you realised it mattered.
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