Three Seconds of Bravery

Maya had become a professional social media spy by accident. It started freshman year when Jake—her lab partner with the effortless messy hair and rare sneaker collection—liked her Instagram post about chemistry homework. Now, two years later, she knew his coffee order (oat milk latte, extra shot), his dog's name (Buster), and that he'd been at the same party last Saturday where she'd spent three hours pretending to be deeply interested in a conversation about which Netflix shows were mid.

"You're doing it again," her best friend Priya said, sliding onto the cafeteria bench beside her. "The lurking thing. It's giving obsessed energy."

Maya locked her phone. "I'm not obsessed. I'm conducting research. There's a difference."

"Mmhmm." Priya stabbed at her salad. "You know what else is weird? We've been in school together forever and you've never said one actual word to him. That's not research, that's building a whole personality around someone who doesn't know you exist."

The words hit harder than Maya wanted to admit. That afternoon, lightning split the sky as she walked home, rain soaking through her hoodie. Her phone buzzed—Jake had posted a story. A photo of a goldfish in a bowl on his desk, captioned: "New roommate. Name suggestions?"

Something about the tiny orange fish, swimming in circles in too-small space, made Maya feel seen in a way she couldn't explain. Before she could overthink it, she typed: "Norman. Obviously."

Her thumb hovered over send. This was it—three seconds of bravery that could change everything or make things weird forever. Rain kept falling. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

She pressed send.

Almost immediately: Jake liked her message. Then: "Lmao thank you?? Finally someone understands."

"Norman needs a friend," she wrote back. "Tell him I said hi."

"He says hi back," Jake replied. "Also, you're in my chem class, right? I literally never recognized your username."

Maya stared at her ceiling that night, phone still glowing. The spy mission was over. The real thing, whatever that meant, was just beginning.