Constanza

Constanza sat on the edge of her bed, legs curled beneath her, her peacoat still buttoned even though the heat had kicked on. She hadn’t decided if she was going out or not. 

Across the room, her roommate, Ashley, was winding down for the night, tying her head scarf. Scrolling on her phone with one hand, she flipped off her desk lamp with the other. The gentle rustle of sheets and the hum of the heater made the dorm feel still and settled.

But inside Constanza, everything felt off balance. The last few days, she kept finding herself replaying the dinner she’d organized with Amara, Dorian, and David. Something about it wouldn’t leave her alone.

Before that night, David was just. . . David. The soft-spoken guy who shared notes and understood references in their Lit class without her having to explain them. Someone she laughed with after lectures — just a friend.

But something had shifted during that dinner. She could tell he liked her. The way he looked at her, like she was the only one in the room, even with Amara giggling beside her and Dorian cracking jokes. On their walk back to campus, it became clear he liked her more than a friend.

But when it came to her own feelings, she wasn’t sure what to do with them. She hadn’t figured out how she felt. So she started to pull back by editing her texts and rewording her sarcasm. Holding back just enough to keep from giving him the wrong idea.

Her phone buzzed.

David: Random question. . . Have you read any of Jodi Picoult’s newer stuff?

She smiled. 

Constanza: Not yet. I’ve been meaning to read Off the Page and Leaving Time though. You?

David: Read Sing You Home. Hit me way harder than I expected.

Constanza: I live for those. Emotional damage wrapped in pretty prose.

David: That should be the tagline on her website.

Constanza: Currently reading House Rules. I'm late to the party, I know.

David: That one’s good, but the cliffhanger ending? Pissed me off.

Constanza: Don’t tell me that 😩 I just got to the trial scenes.

David: No spoilers. Promise. Want to grab coffee this weekend? Talk plot holes and justice systems over lattes?

She stared at the message.

It should’ve been an easy yes. 

David was everything you were supposed to want. He was Kind. Genuine. Quietly charming.  He noticed the little things, checked in, and didn’t play games. The type who remembered how you liked your coffee and who your favorite poet was. And yet. . . 

As she stared at the screen, something twisted in her chest.

Not panic.

Just a pause.

Because she wasn’t feeling the thing she thought she was supposed to feel.

Not a flutter. Not a spark. Not a pull.

Not with David.

And that made her feel guilty.

Because what was wrong with liking someone like him?

She left the message unanswered. Pulled on her boots. Wrapped her scarf tight, then stepped out into the cold.

***

The campus at night always felt gentler. The streets were quieter and the air cooler. It felt like the world was exhaling. She walked past the quad, past the dining hall, and then went to cut through the field near the gym. Walking with her head down, she rounded the gym corner and nearly collided with someone. A girl out for a run. 

“Whoa,” the girl said, catching herself before they touched. “My bad.”

Constanza froze. glancing up to find a tall girl in gray joggers and a Trinity University soccer hoodie. Her dark brown hair, cut into a blunt bob, hugged her jawline, tucked behind her ears beneath a navy beanie. She had sharp features and a way of standing that made it look like she owned the ground under her feet. The girl tilted her head, giving a quick once-over and a sly, lopsided grin. 

“I swear I wasn’t trying to run you over,” the girl said, adjusting her hoodie sleeve. “But, if this were a meet-cute, I’d give it a solid 9 out of 10. If you were a little more clumsy, I might’ve caught you.”

Constanza raised an eyebrow. “You grade your near-collisions?”

“Only the memorable ones.” The girl glanced at her again, taking her in.“You’re definitely not a junior. First-year?”

“Yeah,” Constanza said slowly.

“Thought so. You’ve got the new-student-overthinking-everything face.”

Constanza blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“Means you’re doing that thing where you’re walking around with three different thoughts and none of them have anything to do with where you’re going.”

That pulled a soft laugh from Constanza. She tilted her head. “You always this confident with strangers?”

The girl smirked. “Only the cute ones wandering around looking like they need rescuing from their own thoughts.”

Constanza felt a warmth spread across her cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”

The girl shrugged, then finally stuck out her hand. “I’m Mel. Melanie Cox. I’m a Keeper on the soccer team here.”

“Constanza,” she said, shaking her hand.

“Pretty name.”

They locked eyes for just a second too long.

Mel leaned back on her heels, a grin still sitting comfortably on her face. “Well, Constanza,” she said, “I’ll let you get back to your little night walk,” she said, voice lower now, playful. "But if we run into each other again,” she said, backing up a few steps, “just know it won’t be by accident.”

Then she turned and jogged off toward the dorms like she hadn’t just completely thrown Constanza off course. She stood frozen for a moment under the stadium lights, breath caught. She couldn’t stop thinking about the girl with the sharp jawline, blunt confidence, and a smile that made you want to turn around and follow her. 

***

Two days later, the Instagram DM came in.

ItsMell13.Mel: Found u.

LuvnStanz: I see. Are you stalking me now?

ItsMell13.Mel: No. Just watching from afar 😁

LuvnStanz: So. . . stalking. Like I said. 

ItsMell13.Mel: Lol. Be honest. . . are U a pumpkin spice girlie or nah?

LuvnStanz: Mmm. . . 🤔

ItsMell13.Mel: If ur not, it’s a dealbreaker, I’m afraid.

LuvnStanz: So I’m being judged right now?

ItsMell13.Mel: Ur being evaluated. Respectfully. But yes.

LuvnStanz: . . . maybe I am.

ItsMell13.Mel: Knew it. 

LuvnStanz: I love all things fall, so it’s a must.

ItsMell13.Mel: How about Starbies this Saturday? My treat. U + me + Ur favorite pumpkin spice drink.

LuvnStanz: Fine. But only if you admit PSLs are 10/10 for fall time.

ItsMell13.Mel: They’re 10/10 for ANYTIME. See U Saturday, Miss Autumn 😉

From there, Mel didn’t let up.

For the rest of the week, Mel’s DMs lit up Constanza’s Instagram and Snapchat. She’d send mirror selfies in her gym gear, asking for outfit ratings, which became their daily ritual. In between, there were memes, random video calls, and Snaps that always ended in a laugh. She started calling Constanza My Latte Girl and Miss Autumn, acting like their Saturday coffee date meant more to her than it did to Constanza.

Now that Saturday had come, she hadn't heard a word from Mel.

She sent Mel a DM asking what time she wanted to meet. The message was left on "seen" with no reply. After that, all her other messages only showed "sent." It was getting later in the day, and she still hadn’t heard from her and had no other way to contact her. To keep her dignity intact, she erased any thought of calling through Instagram Messenger. Mel wasn’t replying. And she knew how to take a hint.

It was clear she was being stood up.

Seriously? she thought. Her feelings were hurt, and she hated that they were.

She tossed her phone on the bed.

The silence made her skin buzz. So when her phone rang with a FaceTime from Amara, she hesitated before answering, then pasted on a smile and picked up.

Amara’s face filled the screen, her hair freshly done in Bantu Knots and her brows already raised. “Why do you look like someone just said your favorite author writes like a Wattpad rookie?”

Constanza adjusted her position and scoffed. “Okay, first of all, not everyone needs trauma and metaphors on every page to feel something. Some of us just enjoy good writing, a concept clearly lost on the masses.” She let out a quiet sigh, her tone softening. “I’m just bored.”

Amara narrowed her eyes. “Bored? Aren’t you the one who was all dressed up to go somewhere or whatever?”

“I changed my mind,” she shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going anymore.”

“Uh-huh. . .” Amara let it go for now. “Well, Naomi and I are heading to that antique shop downtown. It’s for a class assignment, we’re researching local artwork and its creator. Wanna come with?”

Constanza shook her head. “I think I’m just gonna chill today. Catch up on reading. Maybe nap.”

“Alright, Miss Anti-Social. Guess I’ll drag you out next weekend.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

Amara laughed, then tilted her head. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good. Promise.”

After they hung up, the room felt even quieter and colder. She changed into high-waisted jeans and a cream-colored, cropped sweater, sleeked her hair into a low bun, and sat near the window with her book, House Rules by Jodi Picoult. She flipped to the last page she remembered reading and tried to focus. But her mind wouldn’t settle.

She kept checking her phone. Every few pages. Just in case.

The hours blurred. The sun sank. And still. . . nothing.

Finally, her phone buzzed. This time it was a text from Amara.

Amara: You find something to cure that boredom yet?

Constanza: I was gonna grab a latte, but I didn’t want to go alone.

Amara: Girl. . . ask David. You know he’ll go with you.

Constanza: I know. I just didn’t want to lead him on. Or confuse anything.

She stared at the blinking cursor for a moment before hitting send. Amara responded almost instantly.

Amara: I get that. But he’s still your friend. Friends get lattes too.

Constanza bit her lip.

David. She had thought about him all week. But not as much as she thought about Mel.

Mel gave her butterflies. Made her pulse skip. Made her skin tingle in a way that was electrifying. David, on the other hand, felt like a warm cardigan on a cold morning. Gentle, constant, and safe. 

But that same comfort made her hesitate. He lacked the boldness that seemed to pulse through Mel’s veins.

Constanza: I think I’m just gonna stay in and read.

Amara: Boring. 😂

Constanza: Yep. Embracing it. You seeing Dorian tonight?

Amara: Yes! He won’t tell me where he’s taking me, though 🙄”

Constanza: That’s cute, though. He wants to surprise you 🥲 FaceTime me while you’re getting ready so I can see the date-night look.

Amara: Bet. Talk soon.

Constanza set her phone aside and flopped back into bed with her book. Her thoughts kept wandering back to Mel. To David. To herself. eventually she drifted off to sleep.

A couple of hours later, she stirred to the sound of her phone chiming with another FaceTime from Amara. Constanza accepted the call and was greeted with the sound of music playing low in the background and the sight of Amara adjusting her phone against something on her desk.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“You’re fine,” Constanza mumbled, stretching.

Amara was halfway through getting dressed. Her skin was glowing, and she had on her pink terry cloth robe while holding a small bottle of hair oil.

“Okay,” she said, “I’m about to take these down. You ready?” 

Constanza propped her chin on her hand. “I’ve been ready.”

Amara unraveled the first Bantu knot and smiled when the curl bounced free. “Oop! We got some action.”

“Yesss,” Constanza said with a slow grin. “Those curls are about to turn that mystery date spot into a runway.”

Amara laughed and continued unraveling. “He just said ‘wear something cozy but cute,’ so I’m still clueless on where we’re going.” 

“It means he wants you to look good but stay huggable. That’s a win.”

Amara’s expression softened. “You sure you’re good?”

Constanza gave a small shrug. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Amara didn’t push it.

Constanza watched her friend get dressed. She noticed her tugging on her dress, trying to get it to stay below her knees. She has beautiful legs; why hide them? "You look great." She said.

"I hate my legs." Amara grimaced.

"Your legs are fine." Her eyes scanned Amara’s background, looking around for a solution. "Why don't you wear those black, knee-high boots?" She pointed out the boots under Amara's raised dorm bed. She watched as Amara continued getting ready. She could see her confidence slowly growing as her look came together. She was excited for her friend, but the growing worry in her stomach was slowly getting in the way.

Amara did a spin to showcase her outfit.

"Perfect," Constanza said with a smile. Her thoughts were starting to wander again. Maybe I have my Instagram notifications on silent. She was trying to fight the urge to check it and was losing horribly.

Amara just nodded and smiled as she carefully separated her curls. “Well, I’ll text you later if I can sneak a mirror selfie while we’re out.” 

“Please do.”

“I’ll call you after if it goes terribly.” 

Constanza smiled. “Or. . . if it goes amazing.” 

“That too.” 

They hung up a minute later, and Constanza stared at the ceiling for a while. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. But she knew it wasn’t going to come. 

She picked up her book again, eyes skimming the same lines without absorbing a word. The sun dipped lower outside her dorm window, casting long shadows across the floor.

The silence pressed in, heavy and persistent.

She’d been re-reading the same chapter all day.

“Ughhhh.” She flopped back on her bed. Her chest felt tight.

For the next hour or so, she went back and forth with herself about reaching out to David. She didn’t want to seem like she was using him as a rebound. But part of her just. . . missed how easy he made things feel.

Then came a knock. A soft one. Then another, but louder.

She frowned. It couldn’t be Ashley; her roommate always came back Sunday evenings and had her own keycard.

“Who the hell is it?!” she snapped, annoyed, tossing her phone down and padding to the door.

When she yanked it open, Naomi, from Amara’s building, stood there. “I’m sorry, girl. I thought you were asleep and couldn’t hear me.”

If you thought I was sleeping, why keep knocking? She thought. Constanza let out a breath. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I thought someone was messing around or something.” She paused. “If you’re looking for Amara because she’s not in her room, she’s not here either. She’s out on a date.”

“I know Amara’s out,” Naomi said. “But. . . your other friend was looking for your room.”

“My other friend?” Her brows furrowed. “What friend?”

That’s when Mel stepped into view, leaning casually against the door sill with that same sly, irritatingly charming smirk.

“You forgot me already?” she teased, her voice playful but laced with that familiar edge.

Constanza stared at Mel, heat rushing to her face. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door. “Where’d you find the audacity to show up here after leaving me hanging all day? I know they don’t sell it in the campus store.”

Naomi raised her brows, said “Oop,” and made herself scarce, slipping down the hall.

Mel put up her hands in surrender. “I deserved that.” She stepped forward and grabbed Constanza’s arm, gently but firmly moving her out of the way as she let herself into the room. The door clicked shut behind her.

Constanza yanked her arm back. “I didn’t say you could come in.”

“I came here to make it up to you.”

That’s when she caught it, something warm and musky clinging to the air between them. It wrapped around her senses, low and slow, stirring up nerves and butterflies in her stomach. She was still mad and annoyed, but Mel’s sudden appearance was throwing her off balance. 

“How?” she asked softly.

Mel stepped in close, lips hovering just shy of hers before gliding past her cheek, her breath warm against her ear. “Come to this party with me,” she whispered, then slowly backed away with a lip-biting smile.

“No way. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m busy.”

Mel glanced around, brows lifted. “Busy doing what?”

“Just get out.” She reached for the doorknob, but Mel caught her wrist again.

“Wait. Just listen, please.” Her voice had softened. “I know I messed up today. I should’ve texted. I lost track of time. I wasn’t thinking. Completely my fault.” 

“Texted?” Constanza repeated, eyes narrowing. “You don’t even have my number. You’ve never asked for it. It’s always Snap or IG, like you’re allergic to real communication.”

Mel looked off to the side, scratching the back of her neck. “I mean. . . that’s just how I usually talk to people.”

Constanza stayed quiet, unsure whether she wanted to yell or roll her eyes. “It doesn’t even matter,” she muttered, looking away.

“So… you’re still mad?” Mel stepped in closer, fingers slipping under the hem of her cropped sweater.

“No, I’m not.” Her voice was clipped. “Because I don’t care.” She looked away before her expression betrayed her, gently pushing Mel back.

Mel didn’t move. “Then come with me. Just for a little while.”

Constanza let out a heavy sigh and thought for a minute. It wouldn’t hurt to get out for a little bit. “Fine. A couple of hours. That’s it.” 

Mel lit up, grinning like she just won something. “Let’s go.”

***

Constanza walked a few steps behind her all the way to the party. She barely heard a word Mel was saying. Her gut twisted. Everything in her warned that this was a bad idea. 

They reached a two-story house with pulsing music spilling from open windows. As she entered, she could immediately feel the drastic temperature change. Inside the house, it was warm and humid compared to the coolness outside. The song "Persian Rugs" by PARTYNEXTDOOR was just ending. The tempo was slow, so it wasn't as rowdy as she had imagined it would be. Mel gestured with her head for Constanza to follow her as she shouldered her way through the crowd. When she reached the stairs, Mel took her by the hand and led her up to the second floor. It was cooler and had fewer people. They walked past a bathroom where someone was knocking on the door, trying to rush the occupant out. She briefly heard puking sounds coming from inside. They passed a room where three people were smoking and talking before finally reaching a bedroom at the end of the hall. Mel, still holding Constanza by the hand, opened the bedroom door and pulled her inside. 

The room was bare and basic. A mattress with a dark blue comforter and a single pillow sat on a box spring directly on the floor, flanked by two makeshift nightstands. A tall, four-drawer dresser stood against one of the walls. LED strip lights traced the ceiling’s edge, casting a soft blue glow across the space. The heavy scent of AXE body spray clung to the air.

“Have a seat,” Mel said, motioning to the bed.

Constanza crossed her arms. “For what? You said you were going to make it up to me.”

“I am.” Mel moved closer, reached out, and kissed her cheek. Then her neck. The kiss at her neck deepened, turning into a slow, lingering suck. Mel’s hands slid beneath Constanza’s sweater, trailing from her lower back up to the nape of her neck, then down again in one slow motion. When she felt Constanza shiver and noticed the goosebumps rising across her skin, she traced a finger along her waistline, then began unbuttoning her jeans. 

Constanza stiffened.

She didn’t want this.

Not like this.

She grabbed Mel’s hands. “I’m leaving.”

Before she could step away, someone banged on the door.

“Melanie!” a voice screamed from the other side. “Open this fucking door!”

"Who is th—" Constanza started, but Mel clamped a hand over her mouth.

“You gotta get in the closet,” she whispered, frantic.

“What?!”

But Mel didn’t wait. She shoved Constanza backward and closed the closet door just as the bedroom door flew open.

A girl stormed in. “What young bitch are you messing with now?!”

“It’s just me, Lyric,” Mel lied.

“Jess saw you bring someone up here. Stop fucking lying!”

There was a loud smack. 

"Chill out! Stop hitting me!" Mel shouted. 

"You're always doing this!" Lyric screamed, then began to cry.

They started arguing again. Constanza held her breath in the dark closet, trying not to make a sound. Standing up and trying to hear what was going on, her head bumped into some wire hangers, sending them clinking to the closet's hardwood floor.

Silence fell. 

“Who the fuck you got in the closet?!” Lyric screamed.

There were quick footsteps, then a scuffle.

“Stop! Nobody’s in there!” Mel protested.

Too late.

The closet door swung open.

Lyric’s eyes went wide. “Who the fuck?!”

Constanza tried to speak, but Lyric grabbed her by the collar and yanked her out. Mel tried to intervene, but Lyric shoved her back.

As Constanza scrambled to her feet, Mel tried to hold Lyric back, but Lyric was hysterical. She slapped Mel, lunged for Constanza’s bun, and started yanking. Constanza managed to stand fully and rammed Lyric into the nearby dresser.

“Bitch!” Lyric shrieked, still clutching Constanza’s hair, which had come loose and now hung wildly around her shoulders. She clawed at her, leaving a stinging scratch across Constanza’s neck.

By now, a crowd had gathered at the doorway. Someone shouted, “Yo, move, move!” and pushed through the onlookers — it was the guy whose room they were fighting in, rushing in to break it up.

The two of them hit the floor in a tangled mess. Lyric, still gripping Constanza’s hair, started kicking wildly, trying to land a hit. Desperate to break free, Constanza swung blindly. Two punches landed, hard, against Lyric’s face, and her grip finally loosened.

Someone yanked Constanza up and dragged her into the hallway. Gasping for air, she glanced back to see them still going at it inside the room. Fuck this shit, she thought, shoving through the thickening crowd. She pushed through the crowd and bolted down the stairs, slipping near the bottom and landing hard.

A guy tried to help her up. “Yo, you aight?”

She swatted his hand away, bolted to her feet, and sprinted out the front door. Once she hit the sidewalk, she didn’t stop and didn’t look back. Her lungs burned with every step, but she kept running until the residence hall came into view.

***

The front steps felt like a mountain. Her legs shook as she dragged herself up them, nearly collapsing before she could reach the door. Once inside, she stumbled toward the elevator, hit the button with trembling fingers, and leaned against the wall. When the doors opened, she stepped in and slid down to the floor, her back against the cold metal.

She stayed there until it reached her floor, praying no RA would appear with questions. When the elevator dinged, she slipped out quietly and sat beside her dorm room door, still trying to catch her breath. The lights were off when she entered, and luckily, her roommate was still gone for the weekend. Constanza crept into the bathroom, closed the door, and the tears came almost instantly. She pulled off her sweater, then stepped in front of the mirror.

The scratches on her collarbone and neck weren’t too deep, just red and tender. Her face was blotchy in some spots, but it looked like everything would fade in a few days. Hopefully, no bruises would show up in places she couldn’t hide.

Her hair was another story. The hair ties were long gone, and the tangles were everywhere. She sprayed water on it and slowly began to detangle it with her fingers. Then she stepped into the shower. As the warm water ran over her face, the flashbacks hit her hard. Every moment with Mel played back in her head, making her stomach twist.

"I'm so stupid," she cried, rinsing shampoo from her hair. I should have slammed the door in her face the second she showed up.

After drying off, she wrapped herself in her robe and pulled her phone from her jeans pocket. Taking a seat on the closed toilet lid, she opened Instagram and blocked Mel, then did the same on Snapchat. On a whim, she opened Facebook, which she hadn’t touched since Thanksgiving, and searched for Mel’s profile there and blocked it.

She noticed a few friend requests waiting. One was from Naomi, one from a girl in her Ancient Philosophy class, and one from David.

She accepted all three.

David’s profile wasn’t very active, but he had a few photos. His profile picture was a candid shot of him walking along a boardwalk in a red and black Nike Tech Windrunner with a black Nike hat. She smiled. There was a Throwback Thursday post of him and Dorian, both dressed up for what looked like an elementary school play. There were a few other pictures: award ceremonies, casual outings, and a group photo from mini-golfing.

While scrolling, it hit her that she had never responded to David’s last text. The one where he had asked her to get lattes a few days ago.

She opened their message thread and stared at his words. Her eyes welled up again. She wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her robe and typed, I really want to see you, followed by a heart emoji. 

She didn’t expect a response at this hour. And she didn’t wait for one.

Gathering her pile of dirty clothes, she stepped out of the bathroom and tossed them into the hamper. Then she slipped under the covers, her body sore and her heart heavier than it had been in a long time. As she stared at the ceiling, she tried to focus on the hope of a reply from David, longing for the calm of his voice and the safety in his smile. Part of her wasn’t sure she deserved someone like him, and an even bigger part wasn’t sure she could feel everything he deserved in return. But for now, she was holding onto him anyway. Because sometimes, choosing what’s right didn’t feel like love. It just felt safe.