Our dorm room is so small that if Giselle takes a deep breath, the wardrobe goes through an existential crisis.
The air smells of coffee, perfume, and something that whispers, "a new life in Santerra."
I, Victoria Montrey, still cannot believe we are here.
That we were accepted.
That everything is supposed to change now.
Although judging by the mess, maybe everything will just look a little prettier.
Giselle Vellard darts between the bed and the mirror, half-dressed, half-demon.
Her athletic body moves like a health-ad campaign — only without the moralizing, all provocation.
She holds two crop tops, lifting her eyebrow at me as if I am a certified expert in fashion disasters.
"Well? Which one is better? With this, I look like I tried too hard, and with that, like I did not try at all."
I tear my gaze from my notes and say the only honest answer:
"You are going to class, not to a nightclub. Dress modestly."
She snorts like a cat politely refusing to stop crinkling plastic.
"No. Modesty is not my genre. What if today is the day I meet him, and I look awful?"
Him.
No name.
Just myth.
Fantasy.
A man she believes must eventually appear — like Amazon delivery, but sexier.
I roll my eyes and hurry to the window, because… I know my "him" will find me eventually, but not today.
Outside, on the sun-warmed lawn under that sour morning light, Theo and Sebastian sit as always.
They are two kind, brilliant, hopelessly awkward boys.
They are in love with Giselle, therefore they are idiots.
They do not stand a single chance.
"Giselle," I say without looking away, "they are already waiting."
"Coming!"
She pulls on a top — too tight, too short, too Hello world, worship me.
Her chest lifts like it is greeting the audience.
My eyebrow rises.
Not judgment.
Envy.
Giselle catches my look and grins.
"You stare at me like I am a crime."
"I stare at you like you are about to commit one."
"So what? Maybe I will."
She winks, and for a moment I forget that the word "lecture" even exists.
**
We step into the hallway, and the dorm greets us with noise, scents, and…
that unsettling feeling that time is suddenly moving faster than I am.
Beyond these doors — not school.
Not home.
Something unfamiliar.
A field where everyone is placing bets on their future.
Giselle walks ahead, her hips swaying — not on purpose, just because her anatomy insists she is the main character.
I feel boys' eyes slide over her, and a chain of thoughts clicks through me:
"They look at her because she is perfect."
"And they look at me because…?"
Not because I am worse.
Just… quieter.
Less noticeable.
Though whoever said the unnoticed cannot bite?
**
We burst out of the dorm like someone kicked us into daylight.
The sunlit courtyard of Santerra smells of grass, coffee, and barely contained impatience.
Theo and Sebastian, sprawled on the lawn a moment ago, spring to their feet so fast you would think someone pressed a branding iron to their backs. Their eyes fly straight to Giselle's chest — and yes, they smile so wide it looks like Heaven accepted them early and granted unlimited access to anything that moves.
"We might be late for class, and you two still weren't coming out," Sebastian announces, but his voice betrays him the second he traces the curve beneath Giselle's top.
A laugh swells inside me.
If men knew how to respect the way they know how to want, the world would be unbearably dull.
"That's exactly why I wear loose clothes," I say aloud, though my inner voice adds:
So I don't have to flash my charms the way Giselle does.
Yes, I have a dancer's body too — strong, flexible, precise.
But revealing it to the first guy who looks my way?
No.
Let someone earn that right.
They do not even notice that I used the word charms ironically.
They are not here for words. They are here for shapes.
"You could have gone without us," Giselle says, her tone a lazy dare, checking which of the boys will blink first.
For a heartbeat, their faces twist into panic.
So naïve. So sweet.
Almost enough to feel sorry for them.
Almost.
"We're friends," Theo protests. "We always go together."
Friends.
Seriously?
My instincts laugh louder than I do.
"Friends, then," I reply, folding my arms. "Funny, because it looks like you want something from us."
Their eyebrows jump.
Their voices trip over each other:
"No-no, we don't need anything from you!"
They shake their heads so violently it is more like they are trying to convince themselves.
But their eyes never leave Giselle's chest.
The corners of my mouth rise without permission.
Giselle and I share a look — a quiet conspiracy between two witches — and then we laugh.
Loudly.
Shamelessly.
Theo and Sebastian blink at us in wounded confusion — like puppies who just watched their worldview collapse.
"It's fine," I say, still catching my breath. "You just sound adorably ridiculous."
Theo purses his lips, as if about to respond, but thinks better of it.
Good choice.
I am merciful today.
Mostly.
We pick up the pace, leaving them behind in a cloud of embarrassment and hormones.
Inside me, something warm and strange stirs — a light, sweet anticipation, as if my heart is searching for someone it has not met yet.
That childish, foolish, beautiful feeling.
I want to believe it is coming for me.
Or that I am coming for it.
We are freshmen.
And naïve or not, I am waiting for love.
The terrifying part?
Santerra feels ready to strike my expectations so hard I may rethink everything —
especially who I want,
and who I will allow close.
And if today is the day something changes…
I am ready.
Just—
please—
let it not hurt too much.