I Dare You To Love Me Back

Chapter One

Move-in day was always a chaotic blend of excitement and stress, and today was no exception. The campus buzzed with students and their families, lugging boxes and bags, each trying to transform their new, bland dorm rooms into something that resembled home. The scene tugged at my heart, making me wish more than anything that my parents could be here with me.

I stood outside my new dorm room, wrestling with a door that seemed determined to ruin my day. No matter how much I twisted the handle, it wouldn't budge.

"Perfect," I muttered, the frustration evident in my voice. "Just what I needed—a door with an attitude."

As I contemplated my next move, my phone buzzed with a text from my mom, but before I could read it, a loud crash from down the hall made me jump. Startled, I looked up to see a girl with wild blonde curls wrestling with a giant box that looked way too big for her to manage. She wore a sundress bursting with so many colors that even a rainbow would have been envious. Her face was a mix of determination and exasperation, punctuated by occasional grunts as she fought to keep the box from toppling over.

"Need a hand?" I called out, trying to sound cheerful despite my own troubles.

The girl glanced up, her expression caught between surprise and annoyance. "Unless you can make this box magically float, I could definitely use some help."

I couldn't help but chuckle; her thick New York accent added a lively, almost defiant edge to her words. "I'm Emma, by the way."

"Izzy," she replied, finally managing to shove the box into place with a triumphant huff. Her voice was bright, carrying that unmistakable New York twang that made her sound both spirited and a little fierce. "Sorry for the mess. I'm tryin' not to bust a gut over here."

I nodded toward my stubborn door. "I'm having a bit of a fight with this door. Any chance you could lend your magic touch?"

Izzy's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Let's see if we can't teach this door some manners."

She marched over, her floral dress swishing with every confident step. Grabbing the handle, she gave it a few firm tugs, and after a moment of struggling, the door finally gave way with a reluctant creak. The grin that spread across her face was pure victory, and I couldn't help but feel a little lighter just seeing it.

"Ta-da! You owe me one," she said, her eyes dancing with satisfaction.

"Wow, thanks!" I said, a wave of relief washing over me. "How about I repay you with dinner—after you help me unpack?"

Izzy didn't hesitate. She followed me inside, her lively energy filling the small space as we began unloading boxes. As we worked, she chattered on about her plans for the year—dreams of activism, a hundred different causes she was passionate about, and a million ideas she wanted to bring to life. Her gestures were wild and expressive, her voice full of an infectious passion that was impossible to ignore.

I found myself getting caught up in her excitement, even as I shared my own love for painting and the quiet connection I felt with nature. My voice was softer, more contemplative, but no less sincere. It felt strange to open up to someone I'd just met, but Izzy had this way of making you feel like you'd known her forever.

"So, tell me about your art," Izzy said, pushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear as she leaned in closer, her curiosity evident.

I hesitated, then smiled softly. "I love painting landscapes, especially the way the light shifts throughout the day. Nature's got this way of being both strong and fragile, like... a secret language you have to learn to understand."

Izzy's expression softened, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "That's deep. My world's more about loud voices and big speeches, but I bet there's a way to mix the two. Art and activism, ya know?"