Chapter 2 Familiar Strangers

Later That Week

By Thursday, Mikey had memorized three things about campus:

The cafeteria's spaghetti should come with a hazard sign.

Fletcher Hall's elevator had a personal grudge against humanity.

Crizzle Hamilton wasn't just loud she was magnetic.

They weren't "friends" in the traditional sense. There hadn't been any official declaration. But ever since that first chaotic day, Crizzle had become part of his daily orbit like gravity pulling him in with each passing moment.

She'd show up out of nowhere with two cups of coffee and zero explanation. She'd crash his study breaks with chaotic playlists and unsolicited critiques of his sketches. And somehow, Mikey had started looking for her in every crowd like his day didn't start until she walked into it.

That afternoon, they were on the dorm rooftop again, a secret spot she'd declared theirs by simply pointing and saying, "This feels right."

The sun was mellow now, hazy light casting long shadows over the edge of the building. Crizzle lay on her back, arms folded under her head, while Mikey sat cross-legged nearby, sketchpad in his lap. Pencil moving, almost aimless.

"That one looks like a jellyfish," she said, pointing at the clouds above.

He followed her finger. "It's a duck."

"Nope. Definitely a jellyfish. A sophisticated one."

Mikey smirked. "You just like saying jellyfish."

She rolled onto her side to face him. "It's a fun word. Jelly. Fish. You can't be mad while saying it."

"Challenge accepted."

He gave her a mock serious face. "Jellyfish."

She laughed, tossing a crumpled candy wrapper at him. "You suck at this."

Mikey flicked it back at her with the tip of his pencil. "So what are we doing up here again? Existential crisis break?"

She shrugged. "I had a weird morning."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Maybe." She paused, then asked, "Do you believe in fate?"

Mikey blinked. "That's a jump."

"I know," she said, eyes still on the sky. "I just keep thinking... what if people are meant to meet? Like, no matter the timing or place, they'd find each other anyway."

"You talking about us?"

She didn't look at him. "Maybe."

Mikey tried to swallow the sudden tightness in his throat.

"I dunno," he said, buying himself time. "I think some people feel... familiar, even if you've never met. Like your soul just recognizes theirs."

Now she looked at him.

"Wow. That was... poetic. Are you okay? You hit your head or something?"

Mikey chuckled, but the tension between them shifted. It wasn't heavy just present. Like static in the air before a storm.

Crizzle's voice softened. "You ever fall for someone too fast?"

His heart stalled.

"Crushes don't count," she added, watching his face closely.

He licked his lips. "Not really. I move slow."

"Liar," she whispered, almost teasing.

He tilted his head. "Why are you asking me all this?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. You're just... easy to talk to. You listen like you actually care."

Mikey met her gaze. "I do."

The words hung between them, unspoken meanings twisting in the silence.

Then her phone buzzed. She looked down, sighed, and stood. "Group project meeting. Library. Kill me."

"Want me to walk you there?"

"Nah, it's cool. They already hate me for being late."

She slung her tote over her shoulder and turned toward the stairwell, then paused mid-step.

"Hey, Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"That person you fell for... if they noticed you really noticed would you tell them?"

He looked at her. His fingers curled slightly around the pencil in his lap.

"Maybe. If I thought the timing was right."

Crizzle nodded. Like she understood. Like maybe she didn't need the answer said out loud.

She disappeared through the door without another word.

Mikey stared at the stairwell after she left, her question replaying over and over. His chest felt like it had been cracked open, just a little.

Was she asking for herself?

Was she... hoping it was her?

He didn't know. And it scared him that he wanted it to be true so badly.

The wind flipped the top page of his sketchpad, revealing a half-finished sketch her eyes. He'd drawn them from memory.

Again.

He pressed the pad closed.

Later that night, the hallway outside their dorm was quiet. Mikey passed her door slowly, the hum of soft music seeping through. Jazz. Not her usual playlist.

He paused. Just for a second.

Then, just as he took a step away-he heard it.

"Mikey..."

It was her voice. Gentle. Barely audible. Like a whisper not meant to be heard.

He froze, heart hammering in his chest.

Was she dreaming?

On a call?

Was she... talking about him?

He didn't knock. Didn't move.

Just stood there, with his whole body alive with questions he didn't dare ask.