College. It's supposed to be the time for drinking, partying, education, and learning the ropes of life—all wrapped up in one expensive package. Somehow you got in. Sheer luck? Intelligence? Divine intervention? You're not sure, but you thank whatever power granted you this opportunity. It's been a few weeks since you arrived on campus, balancing classes, the occasional party invitation, and regular calls with your parents.

This morning starts like any other: shower, deodorant, brushing your teeth, then exiting the bathroom ready to tackle breakfast and the challenge of getting dressed and motivated for class. You move through the routine quickly, efficiently. Breakfast consists of ramen and a hard-boiled egg—simple, familiar, comforting.

As you drag yourself toward your first class, you notice the sign: class suspended due to the professor contracting salmonella. Wonderful. Your gaze drifts across the quad and spots Danielle—the quiet gecko girl you've spoken to twice before, always in the most basic, awkward exchanges. You wander over to her. She looks up, her body tensing visibly. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself for the upcoming interaction.

"Ummm. Hel.. hello." She says awkwardly, rocking back and forth on her feet, her eyes darting away from yours.