Chapter Text
Chapter 1
PART I
Aria’s POV
Ariadrianne hated her aunt, Diane West, for making her do this—well, maybe hate was too strong a word, but right now the knot in her stomach made it feel true.
“Are you still going to be grumpy and not help me move?” Diane asked, hands on her hips.
“Yes,” Aria muttered.
“Gods, I hate you, Aria.”
“I hate you back,” the eighteen-year-old grumbled. Her red hair—too bright, too noticeable—spilled out from under the green hood that only made her stand out more. Blue eyes, sharp and restless, stared stubbornly ahead. She wished she could disappear into the worn car seat instead of stepping out into this whole new life.
Her aunt opened the car door with a dramatic sigh and tugged her out. Diane was forty-two but somehow looked barely mid-thirties, with the same unruly red hair and warm brown eyes that always saw right through her niece.
“Aria, we talked about this. You agreed. Now you’re acting like a petulant child,” she scolded.
Aria’s throat tightened. “I know… but I’m going to miss you.” The words came out small. She wrapped her arms around her aunt, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender detergent clinging to her jacket—a scent that felt like home.
Her parents were long gone in their own ways. A divorce, a year, then her mother’s death. Her father refusing to take her. Diane stepping in without hesitation and raising her alone for ten years. Diane was everything—parent, friend, anchor.
And now Aria was leaving her, flying from Minnesota to California for Stanford. She’d gotten into multiple universities, but Stanford offered a full ride. She took it because she didn’t want to burden Diane, who worked as an elementary school teacher in St. Cloud. Tuition was covered—but not housing—so she hunted for the cheapest option. Off-campus, shared apartment, three bedrooms. A guy and a girl already lived there, both Stanford pre-meds. They wanted someone “quiet and clean,” which sounded like Aria in a nutshell.
Still… living with strangers. Living with people. Her skin crawled at the thought.
Aria reluctantly hauled her suitcases—just two, because that’s all the airline would allow—up three flights of narrow stairs. No elevator. Each step groaned. The hallway smelled faintly of old carpet and ramen. By the second trip, sweat plastered her hair to her forehead; by the third, her arms were trembling.
Her aunt knocked. A moment later, a skinny blonde girl opened the door, bright-eyed and friendly.
“Oh! You must be the new roommate.” Her gaze darted to where Aria hovered half-hidden behind Diane’s shoulder. “Please come in. We already moved the packages you ordered into your room.”
Diane stepped inside with an approving hum. “It’s so clean and lovely in here.”
“I’m Agnes,” the girl said.
“Oh, sorry—I got distracted by the décor,” Diane said, smiling. “It really is beautiful. I’m Diane, and this is my niece, Ariadrianne.”
“Nice to meet you both! The decorations are mine, but the cleanliness is absolutely thanks to my roommate, Conrad.”
At his name, Aria’s attention flicked up. Conrad. She didn’t know the face yet, but the name alone made her stomach twist. Agnes continued chatting with Diane, while Aria drifted to the bookshelf, tracing the spines with her fingertips—biology texts, poetry collections, a scatter of sci-fi novels. Posters lined the walls—neat, symmetrical. She liked that.
Agnes must have sensed how introverted she was, because she didn’t pull her into the conversation. Aria silently awarded her instant brownie points.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into steady work—assembling the IKEA bed frame while Diane gave instructions, unpacking folded clothes, stacking books, pretending she wasn’t fighting the urge to curl into a corner. Diane ordered pizza for everyone as thanks.
“Oh, I’m not strong enough to lug all those packages,” Agnes admitted. “Conrad did that.”
“That’s okay,” Diane smiled. “We’ll all eat together, and I’ll order more when Conrad gets back.”
By the time the room resembled something livable, daylight had dipped into warm gold. At 7 p.m., Diane decided they should run to Costco for essentials—groceries, toilet paper, that sort of thing. Aria quietly nodded and followed her out. She was exhausted, but being with her aunt eased the ache of newness.
When they returned, arms full of bulk-sized bags, a voice cut through the stairwell.
“Here, let me help.”
A hand reached toward her grocery bag. Aria’s reflexes snapped—she jerked back instantly, frowning, chest tightening. The boy’s hair was a dusty blond, almost light brown, and his eyes were a washed-out gray-blue that made her breath catch.
No. No, no, no.
Her aunt accepted his help easily, unaware of the panic rising in Aria’s throat.
“This is Conrad,” Agnes said brightly behind them.
Conrad Fisher.
The one person Aria hated most in the world. The one person she never wanted to see again—not here, not anywhere.
“Sorry,” Diane said with an apologetic smile. “She’s a bit shy around strangers.”
A line Aria had heard repeated a thousand times, used to excuse her freezing, her retreating, her silence.
The second they stepped into the apartment, Aria fled. She rushed into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it. Her hands shook as she braced them against the sink. Her breathing came too fast. Too loud. Her chest squeezed tight.
She pressed her forehead to the cool mirror.
She hated this. She hated California. She hated Stanford.
And now she was trapped—for an entire year—with the one roommate she despised more than anyone.
Her worst-case scenario had just become her reality.
Conrad’s POV
Conrad returned from the library as the last traces of daylight bled into soft orange. The air outside smelled faintly of eucalyptus and warm pavement—California summer. He had been studying for hours, burying himself in dense pre-med notes, not because he needed to…but because thinking was worse. Studying was easier than remembering.
It had been exactly a year since everything fell apart.
A year since he moved to California alone.
A year since his mother died.
A year since he almost lost the beach house that held every memory he cared about.
And a year since he saw the girl he loved—the girl he thought was his future—kissing his brother while wearing his hoodie.
If he let himself stop for even a second, all of that came flooding back.
So he didn’t stop. He studied instead.
Agnes had convinced him to start therapy—gently at first, then by flat-out dragging him to the counseling center. She was the only person who had stayed. The only person who hadn’t given up on him.
They had met when she’d been flirting with him after class. Then gone on a date—
Wrong choice.
Wrong place.
Wrong time.
He drank too much, said too much, shattered something neither of them knew was fragile until it broke. She backed away from anything romantic after that, but somehow stayed as the one steady friend he had. The one good thing born out of his annus horribilis.
They’d lived in a dorm during his first transfer year from Brown, but it had drained both their wallets. So they found a small, quiet three-bedroom apartment far from frat houses and downtown chaos—a place where nothing loud or messy could reach him. Agnes handled the roommate search and picked someone who wouldn’t move in until July. He didn’t care who it was, as long as they didn’t bring parties, drama, or people at all hours.
Once the lease was sorted, he and Agnes moved in early summer. The third roommate began shipping her things to the apartment—boxes arriving under Agnes’ name so she could collect anything that ended up at the post office. Most deliveries were small, though a few were heavy enough that Conrad had to wrestle them upstairs. A bed frame. A mattress. A desk. A bookshelf. Practical things. Neat. Predictable.
He didn’t mind helping. Helping kept him busy. Busy kept him stable.
He’d spent money on kitchen supplies—pans he hoped he’d actually use this year. Agnes decorated the living room, filling it with warm colors and thrifted charm. For the first time since leaving Cousins, he felt like he lived somewhere instead of drifting.
Today, sitting at a library desk, he got a text from Agnes.
Agnes: She’s so cute I want to adopt her. Like a scared puppy. I think I love her already.
It made him smile for the first time all day. If Agnes liked the new girl, then everything would probably be fine.
As he walked back home, the summer air carried a faint ocean chill even this far inland. The sky was still light—California sunsets stretched well past eight. When he entered the stairwell of their building, the echo of footsteps and low muttered curses drifted down from above.
Two people were climbing slowly, weighed down with overfilled grocery bags. Conrad stayed back, observing quietly. The younger girl walked silently, swallowed by a dark green hoodie pulled low over her head. Black joggers, sneakers, shoulders tight—no wasted movement, no sound. The older woman, probably in her forties, wore shorts and flats and was muttering under her breath as she wrestled with a family-sized pack of paper towels.
He didn’t recognize them from the building. It wasn’t until they turned toward the third floor that realization struck him—they were heading toward his apartment.
He quickened his steps and moved forward to help the younger girl.
“Here—let me help you,” he said, reaching for one of the bags.
Her reaction was immediate and sharp. She jerked back violently, as if his hand burned. When her face lifted toward him, he froze.
Her eyes—blue, but not light like Jeremiah’s, not dark like his own. Somewhere between. A shade he’d seen before. A shade that tugged at something old and forgotten.
She looked at him like she’d seen a ghost.
And something about her face—pale, startled, familiar—made his heart hitch for a split second.
Before he could figure out why, the older woman stepped in, gratefully handing him her bag.
Inside the apartment, the girl didn’t say a word. She slipped past him, practically fled down the hallway, and the bathroom door slammed shut with a jarring thud.
Agnes raised her eyebrows at him. He shrugged back.
The older woman stared at the closed door with worry carved deep into her expression.
Conrad stood there, holding a grocery bag, a strange pulse of confusion stirring in his chest.
Something about the new roommate wasn’t just shy.
Something about her felt like déjà vu.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to think.