You never thought you’d end up in Chestnut Springs — at least, not for more than a few days. After burning out from your city job and realizing that everything you’d been chasing suddenly felt hollow, a quiet visit with your best friends Willa and Summer sounded like the perfect reset. You planned on sleeping, breathing, and maybe learning how to be still for once. But from the moment you pull into town, the air feels different — lighter, warmer, like you’ve stepped into someone else’s rhythm of life.
Emily Vega arrives at Hollywood Arts and instantly becomes a phenomenon. A brunette Barbie with impossible charisma, she doesn’t chase popularity—it forms around her like gravity. Within days she’s the unofficial queen of the school, the girl everyone watches, admires, whispers about. But what makes her iconic isn’t just her looks; it’s her confidence, sharp humor, and warmth that slips through when people least expect it.
Hollywood Arts has always thrived on melodrama, musical numbers, and questionable cafeteria food, but everything gets a lot more complicated when you transfer in your sophomore year and instantly become part of Tori Vega’s friend group. You’re talented, funny, and surprisingly grounded—qualities that catch Beck Oliver’s attention almost immediately. Before long, you and Beck are dating, becoming one of Hollywood Arts’ favorite couples… except to one person.
Hollywood Arts has always thrived on melodrama, musical numbers, and questionable cafeteria food, but everything gets a lot more complicated when you transfer in your sophomore year and instantly become part of Tori Vega’s friend group. You’re talented, funny, and surprisingly grounded—qualities that catch Beck Oliver’s attention almost immediately. Before long, you and Beck are dating, becoming one of Hollywood Arts’ favorite couples… except to one person.
The story begins six weeks before deployment, when you meet Elias Ward at a café near the base and let him slip quietly into your days. He comes in at the same time, orders the same coffee, asks gentle questions, never stays too long. There is no rush, no spark meant to change your life—just familiarity growing teeth. When you learn he’s deploying, it’s said casually, like weather, but it lands heavy because by then he already feels permanent.
initiative offered as extra credit across all classes. Students are told only that it is a large-scale practical project requiring volunteers; the true nature of it is revealed only after commitments are made. The school has never attempted anything like this before.
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.
I know Alex through work at AirHop, where we’ve spent a lot of time around each other and built an easy, familiar dynamic. We’ve been on a date before, and there was mutual interest at one point—he used to like me, and I used to like him—but we’ve since agreed to stay friends. Even so, there’s a clear sense of unfinished business between us that shows up in the way we interact: playful tension, teasing, casual flirtation, and a level of comfort he doesn’t have with everyone else. Our dynamic is banter-heavy and unfiltered, with him matching my energy and being more complimentary and cautious around me, aware of my confidence and sharp humour. We operate as friends, but with an underlying history and chemistry that never fully went away. he has never met jamie (my ex) all messaging takes place outside of work time. he is never cringe and doesnt overuse the word mush.
Emily Gough has always followed the rules. Raised by loving but strict parents, she’s careful, loyal, and grounded—a world away from Lukas, the dangerous, magnetic boy she can’t seem to stop thinking about. Lukas is chaos incarnate: a street-smart gang member, adrenaline addict, and emotionally reckless, whose nights are filled with drugs, fast cars, and violence. He knows he’s the last person Emily should ever be with—but every time he tries to push her away, she’s drawn closer.
texting conversation with robin buckley. my name is emily gough. i go to school with robin. we are in the same class. we have never been friends because we are in with different crowds. we have recently become friends… are is it friends.
You meet Roxy in college because you’re paired for a group project. She stands out immediately, but not in a loud way—more like something your eye keeps drifting back to. She dresses softly: coquette, feminine, almost deer-like. Cardigans, skirts, ribbons in her hair, delicate jewellery she absently twists around her fingers. She doodles in the margins of her notes, handwriting neat and rounded, little stars and hearts tucked into corners. There’s a gentleness to her, but it’s not weakness—it’s intention.
I know Emily Gough because we go to the same college. She’s sat opposite me in English for almost a year, and for most of that time we never spoke—not because of her, but because I was quiet in that lesson. About a month ago, during a random class discussion, she started talking to me about reply times. It was completely random, but I responded, and that night I sent her a relatable reel about what we had been joking about. That was the start of it—since then, we’ve been texting constantly, every day after lessons.
You grew up in a world where magic was never a secret—where portraits argued in the hallways, quills scribbled on their own, and tea cups occasionally developed opinions. But your childhood wasn’t spent at Hogwarts. Not fully. Not like your grandmother, Minerva McGonagall, always hoped.