Chapter 1
I’d always been the quiet one, the girl who hid behind books and scribbled poems in the margins of my notebooks. Moving to a small college town for my freshman year felt like a chance to start over, but I was still figuring out who I wanted to be. At eighteen, I was a bundle of nerves and dreams, my heart caught between wanting to stay safe and craving something bold. That’s when I met Emma, my dorm roommate, who turned my world upside down with her laughter and fearless energy.
I was sprawled on my narrow dorm bed, the quilt my mom made bunched under me, flipping through a worn copy of Emily Dickinson’s poems. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the candle I’d lit, trying to make the cinderblock walls feel less sterile. Emma burst in, her guitar case slung over one shoulder, her dark hair tangled like she’d been running through the autumn wind. She wore a black velvet choker that hugged her neck, a tiny silver star dangling from it, and it made my stomach twist in a way I couldn’t explain. We’d been roommates for barely a month, but every time she walked in, my heart did this stupid little flip. She was all fire and confidence, while I was just… Kelly. Shy, bookish, with a head full of thoughts I never dared say out loud.
“Hey, poet girl,” Emma said, tossing her bag onto her bed with a thud. Her voice was warm, teasing, like she already knew me better than I knew myself. “Whatcha reading?”
I held up the book, my fingers brushing the faded cover. “Emily Dickinson. Again.”
She grinned, kicking off her boots and flopping onto my bed, close enough that I could smell her vanilla perfume. “Read me something, Kelly. Something good.”
My cheeks warmed, and I fumbled with the pages, my hands shaky. I’d never read aloud to anyone before, not like this, with her green eyes watching me so closely. “Okay, um… ‘Hope is the thing with feathers…’” My voice wobbled, but I kept going, the words wrapping around us like a secret. When I finished, I glanced up, and Emma was staring, her lips parted, her gaze soft and intense. My chest tightened, like I was teetering on the edge of something huge.
“That was beautiful,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You’re kinda beautiful when you read, you know. All… lost in it.”
I laughed, shoving her shoulder to hide how her words made my heart race. “Shut up, Emma.” But inside, I was glowing, her compliment sinking into me like sunlight.
“No, seriously.” She sat up, scooting closer, her knee brushing mine. “You get this glow, like you’re letting go of something heavy. It’s… I dunno, it’s magic.”
My face burned, and I tucked a strand of my brown hair behind my ear, unsure what to do with the warmth spreading through me. “I don’t know about that,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. Her attention felt like too much and not enough all at once.
She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Bet I could make you let go even more.” Her tone was light, but there was something deeper, something real that made my pulse stutter.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, half-laughing, half-terrified of where this was going. My stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and curiosity, like I was standing at the edge of a dive I wasn’t sure I could take.
Emma leaned closer, her breath warm against my cheek. “I saw that poem in your notebook. The one about surrender. Being tied up, giving up control. You into that?”
I froze, my heart slamming against my ribs. I’d written that poem at 2 a.m., my thoughts spilling onto the page in a rush of longing I didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t about sex, not really—just this ache to feel safe, to let someone else hold the reins for a while. I’d never meant for anyone to see it, especially not Emma, with her easy confidence and knowing smile. “I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice trembling. “Maybe? I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never tried anything like that.” My face was on fire, and I wanted to hide, but her gaze held me there, steady and kind.
She smiled, soft and reassuring, like she could see right through my nerves. “I have. Just a little. Nothing intense, just… fun stuff. Blindfolds, soft ties, that kinda thing. If you ever wanna try, I’d make sure you feel safe. I promise.”
My mouth went dry, and my hands twisted in my lap. The idea sent a shiver through me—not fear, but something electric, like a spark I’d been too scared to touch. I wanted to say yes, but the words felt stuck, tangled in my shyness. “I’d be so nervous,” I admitted, barely audible. “Like… really nervous.”
“We’d go slow,” she said, her voice gentle but sure. “And we’d have a safe word. Something silly, like… starlight?”
I laughed, the sound breaking the tension in my chest. “Starlight? That’s so cheesy, Emma.”
“It’s perfect,” she insisted, her grin wide and infectious. “So, what do you say, poet girl? You in or what?”
I bit my lip, my heart pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it. The room felt smaller, the air thick with possibility. I was scared, but not of her—scared of how much I wanted this, how much I trusted her already. Her eyes were steady, waiting, and I felt a rush of courage, like I could be brave with her. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely there. “I’m in.”
