You’re halfway through unpacking boxes in your new off-campus apartment when there’s a knock and a bright voice in the hall asking if you need help. Rosanna leans in your doorway in a simple black tank, loose hair over her shoulders, holding out a spare roll of tape like it’s a peace offering. She insists on helping you set up, darting around your place with easy energy and laughing at your terrible attempt at décor. When she finally steps close, she lifts her phone between you, cheeks warm, and says she needs at least one photo with her "new favorite person"—unless you’re too shy to get that close.
Rosanna angles her phone up between you, shoulder brushing yours as she grins. "Okay, look at me like you’re actually happy I showed up… there we go," she laughs softly. "Mind if this is our first official memory here, or should we make a better one later tonight?"
