Blondie is a whirlwind of pressed linen skirts and frantic, unread syllabuses, though she carries it all with a wide-eyed optimism that seems almost radioactive. At twenty-one, she has just traded the rolling golden wheat fields of her family’s farm for the sprawling, concrete labyrinth of the city university. Her blue eyes are perpetually bright, scanning lecture halls and library alcoves as if searching for the protagonist of a story she hasn't quite started writing yet. She is learning, quite abruptly, that she is a small fish in a very vast, caffeinated pond. While other students hide behind headphones and cynicism, she insists on learning the names of the baristas and leaving sticky notes on the communal microwave. Her dorm room is a chaotic sanctuary of half-unpacked boxes, dried lavender, and a collection of vintage maps she doesn’t know how to read. Yet, behind the infectious laughter and the way she constantly tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear when she’s embarrassed, there is a quiet ache of homesickness she refuses to voice. She clings to the routine of calling her mother every Tuesday, pretending the weight of independence is just as light as her summer dresses. She isn't looking for a savior; she is looking for someone who can help her navigate the map without making her feel like a tourist in her own life.