From Amara's Point of View
They say college is where you find yourself.
For me, it was where I found her.
Lila Monroe the girl with wild curls, fierce eyeliner, and a laugh that could turn heads in a silent library. We met at freshman orientation. She tripped over a curb and nearly spilled hot coffee on both of us. I laughed nervously. She cussed under her breath, looked up, and smirked.
"Guess I just made a hot impression," she said. And that was it. We clicked.
By sophomore year, we were inseparable. Our Instagram bios even had matching emojis — hers had 🔥🌙, mine had 🌸☀️ ike a silly sisterhood pact. So when we found a cozy off-campus apartment with two bedrooms and a tiny balcony, it felt like destiny. We called it The Nest.
Everything felt like a montage back then.
Laughter echoing through the halls, dancing in the kitchen with avocado masks on our faces, swapping shoes before class, and staying up late dissecting every little text our crushes sent. Lila had a loud personality... bold, dramatic, a little chaotic but I loved her for it. She made life feel brighter.
Then I met Devon.
He wasn't my type — at least, not at first. Too smooth. The kind of guy who always had the perfect reply and knew exactly how to tilt his head to make your heart skip. But somehow, he wormed his way in. His texts made me smile. His hands were warm. He listened when I talked, or at least, pretended to.
Lila approved. "He's cute, in a brooding kind of way. Just don't let him play you," she warned with a wink. I remember thinking how lucky I was. A great best friend, a decent boyfriend, my grades weren't bad , life was good.
We had movie nights every Friday. Lila would bring snacks, Devon would bring beer, and I'd bring my terrible commentary. The three of us were like a mismatched trio in a teen drama. I thought it was harmless. I thought we were solid.
But looking back, I can see the signs.
How her eyes lingered on him just a bit too long.
How he laughed harder at her jokes than mine.
How I started waking up to hushed voices in the kitchen when I was supposed to be asleep.
I ignored them all.
Because when you're happy or when you want to be happy you cling to the illusion. You cover the cracks in your glass house and pray the wind doesn't blow too hard.
I didn't know then that the storm was already coming.
All I knew was that in that little apartment with string lights and scented candles, I had found a home. A sister. A future.
But that's the thing about trust.
When it breaks, it doesn't just fall.
It shatters.