The morning sun poked through the thin curtains of Amber's apartment like an overly curious neighbor who refuses to take a hint. Archie sat at the cluttered kitchen table, stirring his coffee with the kind of absent-mindedness usually reserved for people waking up from three years of accidental hibernation. The mug was chipped, the coffee lukewarm, and his brain still buffering like a slow-loading video.
Amber shuffled through a mountain of papers with the grace of a tax accountant on a sugar high. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of excitement only paperwork can inspire.
"It's just a few more forms," she said, sliding a pen across the table like a dealer laying down cards in a high-stakes poker game. "Registration, financial aid, health clearance—you're officially ready for college."
Archie stared at the stack like it was a foreign language. "College," he echoed, testing the word like a toddler who just learned a new swear. "Right. A fresh start... or, you know, a fresh disaster waiting to happen."
Amber caught the hesitation in his voice and softened. "You don't have to do this if you're not ready." Then, with a conspiratorial grin, she added, "We could fake your death and live in the woods."
Archie raised and eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"
"Only slightly," she said, winking.
Driving to Thornbridge University felt like walking into someone else's dream. Trees waved like enthusiastic fans, and buildings loomed with a kind of intimidating grandeur. His brain, meanwhile, was still stuck on buffering. Buffering. Buffering.
The dorm was modest—a brick building with peeling paint and the faint smell of mystery socks. Archie's assigned room was a shoe box with a window facing the parking lot. It was sterile but for a sad-looking fern someone had abandoned on the windowsill. Amber had smuggled in a fleece blanket that smelled vaguely like burnt toast and a couple of family photos. The pictures made Archie's chest tighten with a strange ache. Faces he should recognize, smiles that felt like half-remembered dreams.
His roommate, he learned, was a tall, lanky guy named Elliot who looked like he'd recently survived a tragic haircut. Elliot was sitting cross-legged on the floor, assembling what appeared to be a complex Lego spaceship the size of a small dog.
"Hey," Elliot said without looking up, "you must be the new guy. Welcome to the madhouse."
Archie offered a tentative smile. "Hi. I'm Archie. And you are...?"
"Elliot. Resident Lego architect and part-time philosopher." He paused dramatically. "Also, I'm the only other occupant of this floor."
Archie raised an eyebrow. "Wait, there are only two of us here?"
"Six students in the whole building," Elliot said, standing up and stretching like a cat. "The other four are scattered in different rooms down the hall. We're like a secret society but with less secrecy and more awkward hallway encounters."
Later that day, Archie met the others as they emerged from their rooms like rare birds—each with their own peculiar habits and quirks.
There was Maya, the caffeine-fueled philosopher who could argue the ethics of eating cereal for dinner until 3 a.m.;
Jonas, a guy who insisted his collection of novelty socks was an art form;
Lila, who was convinced her plants whispered secrets to her; and
Marco, a perpetually sleep-deprived musician who looked like he'd just stumbled off a rock concert stage.
That evening, Archie sat on his bed, textbooks open but unread. Words floated on the pages like confetti caught in a lazy breeze. Lecture videos droned on from his laptop, but it felt more like background noise for a very boring dream.
A knock at the door broke his meltdown. Elliot appeared, balancing a pizza box like a diplomat bearing an olive branch.
"Thought you might need a break," he said, grinning.
Archie smiled—a genuine one this time. "Thanks, I owe you one."
They ate in companionable silence, the kind of quiet that doesn't demand much but somehow feels like a lifeline.
As the dorm buzzed with late-night music and whispered plans, Archie stared at the ceiling. Doors were closing, windows opening—and somewhere in the middle of it all, he might just survive college with this small, weird little tribe.