Chapter 3 — A Warm Introduction

Paylor

The common room smells like freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sharp tang of industrial cleaning supplies—a strange combination that somehow works. It’s packed with people, the kind of crowd I’d normally avoid at all costs. But here I am, clutching the red flyer that had been shoved under my dorm door earlier this morning: “Dorm Orientation Mixer – Winthrop Hall Common Room – 7 PM.” I wonder briefly if someone slid it under my door on purpose. The thought feels both comforting and unsettling—an invitation I didn’t ask for, but maybe needed.

I hover near the door, my back pressed against the cool wood as I survey the scene. Laughter ricochets off the high ceilings, bursts of conversation layering over one another until it’s just noise. Someone has set out a table of snacks in the corner, where students pick at cookies and chips like they’re claiming territory. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag, my palms damp.

The chaos makes my chest tighten, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The fluorescent lighting casts a harsh glare on the polished wood floors, and every movement feels overstimulating—the way someone flips their hair, the flash of a phone screen, the clatter of a dropped cup. I take a steadying breath, but it’s not steady at all. My fingers twist the edges of my sweater sleeves, grounding me in the soft fabric.

I should leave.

The thought of retreating to my dorm tempts me, that small, square box of quiet waiting to swallow me whole. But then I imagine the silence—the way it would press down on me, the way it had this morning before I went to the library. It’s already been a long day of pushing myself into unfamiliar places, of trying not to drown in the weight of this new world. But maybe… small steps. My therapist’s voice is clear in my head: “One thing at a time, Paylor.”

I force my feet to move, skimming along the edge of the room to avoid the center of the noise. My movements feel mechanical, like I’m observing myself from a distance. The edges of my vision blur, the crowd thickening around me like an impenetrable wall. Too bright, too loud, too much. I make my way toward the corner, gripping my bag’s strap tighter with each step.

“Hi there!”

The voice cuts through the noise, bright and startling. I whip around, nearly colliding with the person who’s suddenly beside me. She’s shorter than me by at least half a foot, a sleek black bob framing her face. Her warm brown skin catches the light as she tilts her head slightly, studying me with a curious expression and a smile so genuine it feels like stepping into sunlight.

“Oh, sorry if I scared you!” she says quickly, holding her hands up in mock surrender. A teardrop-shaped pendant dangles from her neck, the rose quartz catching and reflecting the fluorescent light like a shard of calm in the chaos. “You just looked like you could use a friendly face.”

I blink at her, scrambling for something to say, but my throat constricts. My mind reaches for a polite response, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.

“I’m Nora,” she offers, filling the growing pause before it becomes unbearable. “Nora Patel. I live just down the hall—room 307.”

“Uh… Paylor,” I manage, my voice quieter than I intended. “I just… moved in.”

“Room 314, right?” Her grin widens. “I saw you walking past earlier. Welcome to Winthrop Hall! It’s chaotic, but it grows on you. Eventually.”

I nod, unsure how to respond. She doesn’t seem fazed by my awkward silence. Instead, her hands gesture animatedly as she continues. “These mixers aren’t really my thing, honestly. Too noisy, too many people. But,” she lowers her voice conspiratorially, “the cookies are surprisingly good. Way better than the oatmeal ones. You should try the ones with the chocolate chunks.”

Her lightness catches me off guard, and before I can stop it, the corners of my mouth twitch in a faint smile. She notices immediately. Her eyes brighten, as though my reaction is some sort of triumph.

“Come on,” she says, motioning for me to follow. “I’ll show you the snack table, and we can awkwardly hover together. It’s less weird that way. Trust me.”

I hesitate. Every instinct urges me to retreat, to find the nearest exit and disappear into solitude. But something about Nora’s presence—the way her energy feels warm without being overbearing—pulls me forward. She doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd me. She just waits, her smile steady and patient.

We weave through the crowd, Nora leading the way with confidence I envy. She waves to a few people as we pass, drawing their attention like moths to a flame. I glance down at her rose quartz pendant as it sways lightly with her movement. Does it mean something to her? I wonder briefly if it’s a gift, a reminder, or just something she likes. Either way, it feels distinctly her—vivid, intentional, warm.

“So,” she says as we reach the snack table, glancing over her shoulder, “what’s your story, Paylor? Where are you from?”

“Connecticut,” I say simply, reaching for a cookie just to give my hands something to do.

“Nice. I’m from San Francisco. Big move, huh? First time away from home?”

I nod, my shoulders tensing automatically. The topic feels too close, too raw to unpack with someone I’ve just met. Nora seems to sense my hesitation and smoothly switches gears, her grin softening into something gentler.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. Moving to a completely new place, starting fresh—it takes guts.”

“Or desperation,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

She pauses, her gaze flicking to me with an intensity that catches me off guard. “Or both,” she says softly, her earlier brightness dimming slightly.

Her words settle between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Something in her tone—understanding, maybe—makes me glance at her. Really look at her. There’s a sincerity in her expression I hadn’t noticed before.

“Anyway,” she says after a moment, her voice bouncing back to its lively cadence. “What are you studying?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I admit. “I thought I’d figure it out as I go.”

“Smart. No need to rush. Harvard can be… a lot.”

She’s not wrong. The weight of the place, the constant hum of ambition and expectation, feels suffocating most days.

Nora nudges me lightly with her elbow. “Hey, random question—think you’ll ever get used to the fact that everything here is a century older than we are? Like, these walls have seen some things, you know?”

The ghost of a smile tugs at my lips again. “Probably not.”

“Good,” she laughs. “Keeps things interesting.”

For the first time that evening, I don’t feel like I’m drowning in the crowd. Nora’s presence feels like a lifeline, steady and unassuming.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, her expression turning mischievous. “Want to make a break for it?”

I blink. “What?”

“Out there.” She gestures toward the arched windows overlooking the lamplit quad. “It’s quieter. And no pressure to mingle with people pretending they’re not just here for the free food.”

The idea of slipping away tugs at me, and I find myself nodding before I can overthink it. “Okay,” I say, the word surprising me as it leaves my mouth.

Nora’s grin stretches wide, and she grabs a handful of cookies before leading the way to the door. As we step into the crisp night air, the noise of the common room fades behind us.

The quad is nearly empty, the stillness a stark contrast to the chaos we left behind. Fairy lights strung between the trees cast soft pools of light on the cobblestone paths, and the air smells faintly of grass and autumn. My shoulders, tense for so long, begin to loosen.

“Much better,” Nora says, letting out a contented sigh as she tilts her head back, taking in the sky.

I nod silently, my gaze drifting to the towering buildings framing the quad. The architecture is so perfect it almost doesn’t feel real, like stepping into a postcard.

“You know,” Nora starts, breaking the quiet, “it’s okay to feel like you don’t belong right away. Everyone here pretends they’ve got it all figured out, but honestly? Most of us are just faking it until we do.”

I glance at her, surprised by the honesty in her voice. She’s still walking, her fingers absently brushing the pendant at her neck, her expression thoughtful.

“You’re not alone, Paylor,” she adds quietly. “Whatever you’re carrying, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Her words settle in my chest, heavier than I expect. I don’t reply, unsure how to, but she doesn’t seem to mind. We walk in silence for a while, the quad stretching out before us in a patchwork of light and shadow.

For the first time since arriving, I don’t feel completely untethered.

It’s not much. But it’s something.