Claire Hart was halfway through explaining the campus coffee situation—what to avoid, what was overpriced but still worth it—when she noticed the girl standing just a step behind her brother.
Evan shifted nervously at Claire's side. "Uh—Claire, this is Mila. Mila Rowan. She's in my biology lecture."
Claire turned, smile already in place, easy and practiced. She was good at first impressions. She'd always been.
"Hi," she said, offering her hand without thinking. "Nice to finally meet you."
Mila looked at the hand like it had appeared out of nowhere.
For a second, she didn't move. Her brain stalled, as if the world had tilted slightly off its axis and refused to settle back into place.
Then she took it.
Claire's hand was warm. Firm, but gentle. The kind of touch that felt intentional even when it wasn't.
"Hi," Mila managed. Her voice sounded smaller than usual, distant, like it was coming from somewhere behind her ribs. "I'm—yeah. Mila."
Claire laughed softly, not unkindly, just a quiet exhale of amusement. "You don't have to sound so nervous. I promise I don't bite."
Evan groaned. "Claire."
"What? I'm being welcoming."
Mila smiled, automatically. She didn't quite trust herself to speak again.
Because something had already gone wrong—no, not wrong. Something had already happened.
She'd known Claire Hart existed, of course. Evan talked about her constantly. His older sister, the junior. Smart. Cool. Protective. The kind of person who always seemed like she knew where she was going.
Mila had imagined her as an idea.
She hadn't been prepared for the reality.
Claire stood close—too close, maybe, or maybe Mila had just stopped being aware of personal space altogether. She smelled faintly of laundry detergent and coffee. Her hair was pulled back loosely, strands already escaping around her face. There was an ease to the way she held herself, like she belonged wherever she happened to be standing.
And when she smiled, it felt personal. Even though Mila knew—knew—it wasn't.
"So," Claire said, folding her arms comfortably, "Evan's been telling me about you. All good things, I swear."
Evan's ears turned red. "I did not—"
"You did," Claire cut in cheerfully. "You absolutely did."
Mila watched them, something tight and unfamiliar forming in her chest. The way Claire spoke his name. The way she nudged his shoulder without thinking. The affection was casual, unquestioned. Natural.
She wanted to be part of it. Not as Evan's classmate. Not as the girl with the notes and the shared lectures.
She wanted—
The thought cut itself off, sharp and sudden.
Claire tilted her head, studying Mila more closely now. "You okay? You went kind of quiet."
Mila swallowed. Nodded. "Yeah. Just—sorry. Long day."
"Freshman year'll do that to you," Claire said easily. "You get used to it. Eventually."
Eventually.
Mila wondered how long eventually would take. How long it would take for her heart to slow down, to stop reacting so violently to a smile that wasn't meant for her.
Claire turned back to Evan. "I was thinking we could grab dinner later. You too, if you want," she added, glancing at Mila. "No pressure."
Mila opened her mouth to decline. To protect herself. To do the sensible thing.
"Yes," she said instead.
Claire smiled again—bright, effortless, unaware.
And Mila realized, with a clarity that scared her, that she was already in trouble.
She just didn't know yet how much.