Hello
Reagan Holt had imagined moving into college would feel like a montage.
Boxes stacked neatly. Laughing with roommates she already knew inside jokes with. Maybe a little emotional music playing in the background while she hugged her parents goodbye and stepped into independence like it was something cinematic and soft.
Instead, it was just hot.
Hot in a way that clung to everything, her skin, her clothes, the cardboard boxes she kept re-taping because they wouldn’t stay closed, the air inside Tutwiler Hall that felt like it hadn’t been updated since the building was first painted.
Still, when she stepped out of the elevator on her floor and saw the long hallway lined with identical doors, something in her chest tightened in a way that wasn’t entirely bad.
This was it.
University of Alabama.
Her new life.
“Room 314…” she murmured, dragging her suitcase behind her.
The hallway was already alive with movement, girls and parents shifting in and out of rooms, doors propped open, plastic storage bins everywhere like everyone had collectively decided that chaos was the only acceptable way to begin adulthood.
She stopped in front of her door.
Her name and her new roommates were taped neatly beside it:
REAGAN HOLT & ANNIKA SCOTT
She exhaled once, then knocked lightly before using her key.
The door swung open.
And there she was.
“Reagan?”
A girl stood in the middle of the room holding a box cutter like she had just been in the middle of an emergency situation. Dark hair pulled into a messy bun, oversized T-shirt, Nike shorts.
Reagan blinked.
“Annika?”
The girl broke into a grin.
“Oh my god. Hi.”
Reagan laughed, stepping inside. “Hi.”
For a second, neither of them moved. It wasn’t awkward exactly, it was more like a delayed realization that something imagined was now real.
They had met online in June. Some random roommate Facebook group that turned into late-night FaceTimes and voice notes about dorm decor, rush anxiety, and whether or not community bathrooms were actually as bad as people said.
But seeing her in person was different.
Annika looked exactly like her messages, just louder in real life.
“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Annika said, setting the box cutter down dramatically. “Like, I was convinced you were going to show up and be like, six feet tall and intimidating and hate me.”
Reagan smiled as she dropped her bag. “I mean, I am six feet tall.”
Annika paused.
“…you are?”
Reagan nodded.
Annika stared at her for a beat, then pointed. “Okay, that’s actually insane. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“You never asked,” Reagan said simply.
Annika laughed, shaking her head. “Fair.”
The room itself was small but not unbearable. Two beds, two desks, two dressers. A big window that let in too much light and not enough air conditioning. Everything was beige and institutional in a way that begged to be personalized.
Annika was already halfway through decorating her side of the room, photos taped up, a mirror leaning against the desk, a pile of throw pillows that looked like they had been curated by someone with a very specific Pinterest board titled cozy but expensive.
Reagan dropped her suitcase on her bed.
“This is weird,” she admitted.
Annika glanced over. “Weird good or weird bad?”
“Both.”
Annika smiled like that was the correct answer.
Within minutes, they fell into a rhythm.
Reagan unpacked clothes while Annika argued with a command hook that refused to stick to the wall. Music played softly from Annika’s phone, something poppy and familiar, the kind of soundtrack that made everything feel slightly more put together than it actually was.
“So,” Annika said, stepping back to inspect her progress, “How’s Atlanta life feeling now that you’ve escaped?”
Reagan hung a shirt in the closet. “I didn’t escape. I just… relocated.”
“Same thing,” Annika said.
Reagan smirked. “What about you? San Diego must feel very different from Alabama.”
Annika groaned. “It is. Like, I miss the ocean so much it’s actually disrespectful that it’s not here.”
“That’s fair.”
Annika leaned against her desk. “Also, I’m terrified of sorority recruitment.”
Reagan paused slightly, then continued folding a pair of jeans.
“Yeah?” she said casually.
Annika nodded. “Like, I want to do it. Obviously. But also I feel like I’m going to say something wrong and get socially exiled.”
Reagan laughed. “That seems… dramatic.”
“It’s not dramatic,” Annika insisted. “It’s real.”
Reagan looked over at her, amused. “You’ve been here three hours.”
“And I’ve already seen twelve girls in full hair extensions and matching Stanley cups. I’m overwhelmed.”
That made Reagan laugh harder.
Something about Annika made the room feel less like a transition and more like a shared experience. Less like Reagan was stepping into something alone.
Still, there was a part of her that stayed slightly guarded. Always did.
Not because she didn’t like people.
Because she had learned early that liking people didn’t always mean they made space for you.
By the time their rooms were mostly unpacked, the sun had started to lower outside the window, turning the sky into something soft and orange.
Annika collapsed onto her bed dramatically.
“I am never moving again,” she declared.
Reagan sat on hers, looking around. “We literally just got here.”
“And?”
A knock came at the door.
Both of them turned.
Annika jumped up first. “Oh my god, my parents are probably back.”
She opened it.
Two adults stood there, Annika’s parents, holding takeout menus and a paper bag of snacks like they were trying to prolong the goodbye.
“We’re starving,” her mom said immediately. “We thought we’d take you girls out before we leave you to the wolves.”
Annika groaned. “Mom.”
Reagan smiled slightly, watching them interact.
Her own parents were still in the hallway when she stepped out. Her mom immediately pulled her into a hug.
“Are you doing okay?” her mom asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Reagan said. “It’s good.”
Her dad stood nearby, hands in his pockets, nodding like he was trying to be casual but clearly wasn’t ready to leave yet.
“You call if anything feels off,” he said.
“I will.”
“You mean it,” he added.
Reagan smiled. “I mean it.”
There was a pause, one of those long, quiet ones where everyone is trying to decide how emotional they’re allowed to be.
Then it was time.
Hugs. Quick instructions. One last look at the dorm room doorway.
And then they were gone. 4 hours until they were back in Atlanta.
Reagan stood in the hallway for a moment after her parents disappeared into the elevator.
Annika stepped out beside her.
“You okay?” Annika asked.
Reagan nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… weird.”
Annika bumped her shoulder lightly. “Welcome to college.”
That made Reagan smile for real this time.
Taco Mama was crowded in that early college-night way, loud groups of students, parents still lingering, everyone pretending they weren’t just as overwhelmed as everyone else.
Annika insisted on going.
“I refuse to eat cafeteria food on day one,” she had said firmly.
So they walked together across campus, already learning the paths, already getting slightly less lost than they had been an hour ago.
Reagan noticed everything.
The way groups formed naturally. The way girls linked arms like they already belonged to each other. The way boys stood in clusters trying too hard not to look like they were trying too hard.
The South, she thought, really did have a rhythm.
And she was still learning the beat.
Inside Taco Mama, the air smelled like chips and lime and something fried.
They ordered quickly and found a small table near the back.
Annika was mid-story about her flight when Reagan stopped listening.
Not because she was bored.
Because she saw her.
Across the restaurant.
A brunette girl sat with a group of friends, laughing at something someone had said. She wasn’t performing her laughter. That was the first thing Reagan noticed. It looked real.
Her hair fell over one shoulder in loose waves. She had one hand on her drink, the other gesturing slightly as she spoke. She wasn’t the loudest person at the table.
But somehow, Reagan couldn’t look at anyone else.
She didn’t know her name.
Didn’t know her major, her dorm, her story.
Didn’t even know if she would ever speak to her.
But she knew something anyway.
A certainty that settled in quietly, without permission.
She needed to know her.
Annika was still talking, unaware.
Reagan picked up her drink slowly, eyes still across the room.
“Annika,” she said.
“Yeah?”
Reagan didn’t look away.
“Never mind.”
Annika frowned. “What?”
Reagan finally blinked, tearing her gaze back just slightly, but only for a second.
“Nothing,” she said.
But her eyes drifted back again almost immediately.
And across the restaurant, the brunette laughed again.
Like the beginning of something Reagan didn’t yet have a name for.
