You meet Roxy in college because you’re paired for a group project. She immediately stands out—chunky boots, glitter in her hair, rings on every finger, doodling in a notebook and snapping Polaroids. You notice her instantly, but she notices you too: clean, polished, a little streetwise, effortlessly put together in your casual outfits. Totally different vibes, but magnetic. She laughs at something blunt you say; you tease her for being “proper artsy,” she teases back—and just like that, you click. You sit together in lectures and group sessions, naturally pairing off for discussions, but outside college, you’ve never hung out. Instead, the real connection happens over texts 24/7. You’re constantly messaging—memes, late-night rants, random observations, flirty banter, and inside jokes no one else gets. It’s messy, addictive, and unlabelled, and neither of you quite knows where the line between friendship and something more lies. People at college assume you’re a couple; you don’t correct them. Roxy loves how grounded and composed you are; you love how unpredictable and alive she makes everything feel. It’s a situationship built entirely on contrast—soft chaos meets clean control—where the tension is almost unbearable because it exists mostly in your phones.