It started with a dumb joke about cereal.
Sardine and I were sitting in the dining hall, pretending the oatmeal wasn’t glue, laughing way too hard over nothing, when this guy sat down across from us and said,
“You know, that oatmeal looks like regret in a bowl.”
I snorted out loud and nearly choked.
Sardine smirked. “You’re not wrong.”
The guy extended his hand. “Leo. I’m the emotional support disaster of this place. Nice to meet you.”
I laughed despite myself and shook his hand. “Lyra. Recently upgraded from emotional wreck to mild chaos.”
Sardine added, “And I’m Sardine. Because apparently my mom hated me.”
Leo raised a brow. “I dig it. Strong names for stronger women.”
He had that kind of smile that didn’t ask for anything—just gave it freely. And maybe I’d forgotten what that
