June, 2016
"Good morning, fellow Kennedies! Welcome to KITS. I'm Sam."
The voice cut through the early-morning chatter. A tall guy with short hair and chocolate-brown eyes waved enthusiastically. He wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt printed with a cartoon rocket, as if to reassure everyone that college was, in fact, survivable.
"And I'm Max," the girl beside him added. She had the same warm brown eyes, curly hair pulled into a loose ponytail, blue jeans, and a peach blouse. "We'll be your guides today."
Sam was already walking. "Let's start with the fresher's building."
Around twenty students followed, while other groups scattered across the campus with different seniors. The air buzzed with first-day energy—nervous laughter, half-formed friendships, shoes scraping against unfamiliar paths.
Caroline walked beside Marcus, her steps light, eyes bright.
They had been planning this moment for two years.
College lists taped to bedroom walls. Late-night arguments over rankings. Quiet panic over applications. Getting into university had felt harder than the exams themselves.
KITS hadn't been their first choice.
But it was the only place that had accepted both of them.
So they chose it.
They had finished their applications and dorm formalities the day before. They had already wandered through parts of campus alone, getting lost on purpose. Still, curiosity pulled them into the guided tour.
Caroline wore green cargo pants and a red crop top, a shoulder bag slung across her body. Inside it were chocolates, a water bottle, and the quiet comfort of being prepared.
Marcus wore black cargo pants and a dark blue T-shirt. He shook a packet of chips once, checking the weight, as if this too had been planned.
On the walk, names floated past—introduced, repeated, forgotten. Faces blurred together.
"To keep things interesting," Max announced, walking backward, "KITS was established in 1920. Over time, it's grown into a university with diverse programs and clubs. Around thirty percent of our undergraduates are international students."
Sam added, "The dorm buildings here are arranged alphabetically, but the names aren't random. They're based on the children's alphabet chart most of us grew up with—Apple, Bat, Cat, and so on."
He slowed his pace, glancing back at the group. "The idea is simple. What you see and learn early on is never the full picture. Every place, every lesson here is meant to remind you to think beyond the obvious."
"And dorm life is mandatory for 1st years." Max reminded.
A collective groan rippled through the group.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Sam said easily. "You'll meet people from different majors and places. Personality clashes happen, but room changes are possible—with valid reasons."
Max smirked. "I survived. Sam thrived."
Caroline smiled to herself. She liked how easily they talked about surviving college, as if it were something to be endured rather than feared.
A student raised his hand. "Are there any restrictions we should know about?"
Caroline turned toward him, interest flickering.
"Good question," Sam said. "First-years can't leave campus after eight p.m. No smoking or drinking in dorms. During festivals, some rules relax—but officially, you didn't hear that from us."
"Yes, sir," the group replied, laughter breaking out.
Caroline exchanged a look with Marcus.
Rules had never frightened them. They had always known how to bend without breaking.
The tour stretched on—academic buildings, libraries, club offices, dorm blocks that looked identical no matter how many times Sam insisted they weren't. By noon, sweat clung to shirts, and excitement thinned into exhaustion.
Four hours in, it felt like they had only scratched the surface.
Most students looked ready to collapse.
Except Caroline and Marcus.
They were still snacking.
A hopeful-looking student edged closer. Caroline glanced at him, then at his empty hands.
"You look tired," she said lightly. "Bring snacks next time."
Marcus added, entirely unhelpful, "The burger at Dolls Den is actually worth the hype," Marcus added. "You should try it."
The student forced a smile and retreated.
Others took the hint and kept their distance.
The seniors could only shrug apologetically. "There's a canteen nearby," one of them offered. "Five minutes if it's not crowded."
It was crowded.
Groans followed. Stomachs growled. A few annoyed looks were thrown toward the couple who seemed unfairly content.
Caroline leaned closer to Marcus. "You think they hate us already?"
He crunched thoughtfully. "Not yet."
After a beat, he added, "But maybe in a couple more encounters."
When the tour finally ended near the dorms—mercifully close to the dining halls—Sam and Max shared their favorite canteen recommendations before waving goodbye.
"Thank you!" voices echoed as students scattered toward food.
Caroline popped another chocolate into her mouth. Marcus tore open his last packet of chips.
They looked at each other and laughed.
At that moment, everything felt simple.