A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You

Ryan Carter hated the smell of new dorms.

He slung his duffel bag on the bottom bunk with a heavy thud and exhaled like it hurt. Room 306, North Hall, University of Arkwood. It sounded official. Safe, even. Far enough from his old school and from Jake.

Especially Jake.

Ryan didn’t check his phone. He’d left it on Do Not Disturb ever since he boarded the bus that morning. If he looked, there might be messages. If he looked, he might answer. And if he answered…

He shook it off.

No. That version of him the version that apologized when he hadn’t done anything wrong, that shrank to fit into someone else’s insecurity that Ryan was buried back in Briar Ridge, three hours south and two emotional centuries away.

This was a new start.

The campus was buzzing outside, all autumn air and coffee-fueled chaos. Students moved like flocks of birds, weaving through each other with a kind of caffeinated urgency. Ryan pulled his hoodie tighter and stepped into the stream of bodies.

He barely made it ten steps before someone rammed into his shoulder.

“Hey, watch it,” came a clipped voice.

Ryan turned, rubbing his arm. “You walked into me, asshole.”

The guy who’d bumped him stopped and turned back. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an Arkwood University hoodie like it had been custom-tailored to his ego. Hazel eyes. Sharp jaw. Disdain dripping off him like cologne.

“I don’t have time for this,” the guy said, already walking off.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You had time to be a dick though.”

The guy froze. Turned around. “You say something?”

“Just that your attitude’s compensating for something.” Ryan flashed a half-smile.

The guy looked him up and down slowly. “Freshman?”

“Transfer,” Ryan said, refusing to flinch.

“Figures.” The guy’s smirk curled like a threat. “Welcome to Arkwood.”

Then he disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by backpacks and ambition.

Later that day, Ryan found out his name.

Daniel Brooks. Junior. Student body vice president. Business major with a political science minor and a reputation for being both dangerously charming and fatally intolerant of bullshit.

He also happened to be Ryan’s assigned mentor for transfer orientation week.

“You’re joking,” Ryan muttered when he saw the name on his orientation packet.

His new roommate some laid-back engineering major named Chris chuckled from across the room. “Yeah, man. Daniel’s a hard-ass. Thinks he owns the school.”

“He tried to shoulder check me to death outside the quad.”

Chris laughed harder. “Sounds like him.”

Ryan stared down at the orientation schedule. Great. Just great. Day One, and he already had a nemesis.

They met officially the next morning.

Daniel stood at the front of the Student Union lounge, arms crossed like he was supervising a prison riot. He didn’t look impressed with the 20 or so transfer students seated in front of him, and he definitely didn’t look thrilled when his gaze landed on Ryan.

“You,” he said, pointing. “Carter, right?”

Ryan raised a brow. “Yeah.”

“You’re with me.”

Daniel walked off without waiting. Ryan followed, stomach clenching. Whatever this was going to be, it wasn’t going to be smooth.

The “mentorship” was more like being dragged through campus by someone who resented his existence.

“This is the science building,” Daniel said flatly. “Don’t go in there unless you enjoy crying in lab goggles. Next.”

“Are you always this friendly,” Ryan muttered, “or is this just a special performance for me?”

Daniel didn’t look at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m like this with everyone.”

“Comforting.”

They walked in silence for a while, the tension hanging thick. Students passed them, some nodding at Daniel, others giving curious glances to Ryan like they were trying to figure out who he was.

“You don’t talk much,” Daniel finally said.

“You don’t shut up,” Ryan shot back.

Daniel stopped walking and turned to him. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“I’ve got boundaries,” Ryan replied coolly. “Try not to trip over them.”

Daniel studied him then. Not with the sneer or the cold indifference he’d shown before but something else. Calculating. Intrigued. Annoyed, maybe, that Ryan hadn’t bent or apologized or backed off.

Whatever it was, it passed quickly.

Daniel turned and kept walking. “Orientation dinner’s at six. Don’t be late.”

By the time Ryan got back to his dorm that night, he had two texts from a number he hadn’t blocked but absolutely should have.

Jake:

Did you think you could run away from me?

Jake:

You still owe me a goodbye.

Ryan deleted them without replying.

Then he turned his phone off and stared at the ceiling for a long time, wondering how the hell Daniel Brooks had gotten under his skin in less than twenty four hours.

And why, in some twisted part of him, it felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready for.