The soft light of Saturday morning filtered through the thin curtains of Rhys’s dorm, painting the modest room in gentle shades of gold and cream. His dorm really was comfortable—good enough for three people, with enough space to feel like you could breathe. It was leagues better than my own cramped room, a two-person shoebox of a place that always felt like it was bursting at the seams, every inch filled with discarded books and too many half-baked ideas.
The comforting sizzle of eggs in the pan grounded me as I leaned against the counter. I watched Rhys expertly shuffle through breakfast preparations, one hand flipping a pancake while the other reached for the coffee pot. His messy bedhead made him look effortlessly charming, like he’d just rolled out of a Vogue editorial instead of a c
