The Depths Of Our Love

Chapter 1

Disclaimer Lily and Grace are both 18 years old in this specific scene. It might be a little confusing.

Flashback*

I was sitting at my usual window seat in Coffee House, iced hazelnut americano in hand and my design textbooks spread out in front of me. Finals were creeping up, and I had every intention of staying laser-focused—until my phone buzzed.

Grace.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Lily! Did you—wait, hang on—HEY! Can you not scream into my ear, I'm on the phone!"

Her voice was barely audible over the chaos behind her.

"Grace, what are you even saying? You sound like you're calling from a wind tunnel."

"Ugh, rude. Can you hear me now?"

"Barely. What's going on?"

"Where are you? Wait—don't tell me—you're studying again, aren't you?"

I glanced at my open sketchpad. "Guilty. I'm at Coffee House. Want to come join me?"

"Absolutely not," she said, like I'd just asked her to walk barefoot through a swamp. "I'm done studying for the night—we're going to a party!"

"There's no we in this," I said, frowning.

"Oh my God, don't be an old lady. This is the party. Some loaded trust-fund baby is throwing it, and rumor has it there will be actual catering and maybe a hot tub. And maybe hot guys in said hot tub. Come on."

"I think this is more about you finding a guy to sweep you off your feet."

"Lily, babe, if Prince Charming is handing out free drinks in a hot tub tonight, I will not be missing that moment."

I snorted. "I have finals. I'm not trying to flunk out just to get wasted in someone's basement."

"It's not a basement, it's apparently a mansion. Big difference. Also, who said anything about getting wasted? You can bring your own juice box for all I care. Just come."

"I don't know. I really don't like those kinds of parties. You know I hate the whole blackout-drunk, lose-your-shoes-by-midnight scene."

"I know, I know. You're allergic to fun. But this isn't about chaos. This is about vibes. You need a vibe refresh. One night, Lily. That's all I'm asking. I swear on my Sephora points, I won't drag you to another party all year."

I sighed, knowing damn well I'd already lost this argument.

"Fine. Just this once."

"YES. You're the best. Now haul your ass back here—I need time to work my makeover magic."

Once I hung up, I let out a long sigh, the kind that deflates your whole chest. Why did I always let Grace talk me into things like this? I glanced at the time—3:07 PM. Okay, I could squeeze in a few more minutes of pretending this wasn't happening before Grace inevitably dragged me into chaos.

I packed up my sketchpad and laptop, tucking them neatly into my tote. Everything had its place. I liked order—it made the world feel less overwhelming. But there was nothing orderly about what was coming tonight.

As I walked through campus with one earbud in, the noise around me grew louder—not the kind in decibels, but in energy. Everyone was buzzing about the same party. I passed girls talking excitedly about their outfits, some already wearing full makeup, and guys hyping each other up like they were heading into battle.