Amaya's pov

 I wake up to seventeen text messages.

 Most of them are from Alvaro—random thoughts, a photo of his breakfast, a meme about hockey, another photo of what looks like his ceiling with the caption "can't sleep thinking about you." Javier sent three, all practical reminders about an assignment due Monday and asking if I need help. Luciano sent one at 2 AM that just says "Sleep well."

 My chest feels warm and tight at the same time.

 I'm lying in bed scrolling through the messages again when my roommate Emma pokes her head through my door.

 "You're smiling at your phone," she observes. "That's new."

 I immediately stop...