You: a Chi Omega with Hunter rain boots and a Patagonia quarter-zip.

Me: ECE major with a HackDuke tee and Microsoft hoodie. You walked out of the student store in the BC and passed by the APB as I was reluctantly eating my hundredth caesar chicken wrap. I fell head over heels in love as you tried to hide the pop tarts you bought under a Kind bar and Fiji water. You’re “key three” to me.

You: the Robertson scholar talking about how you were a Robertson scholar while getting on the Robertson express.

Me: a lowly non-Robertson scholar basking in your superiority.

 

You: Sitting in the Duke Coffeehouse wearing Doc Martins, a top knot, Goodwill thrifted bomber jacket while talking about how you should have gone to Oberlin or Williams.

Me: Reblogging succulents and pictures of bruises nearby in an oversized cardigan and mom jeans. You had my heart the moment you mentioned how “fake” Duke is and made an econ major joke. We were meant to be.

 

You: Tall and drunk, grinding on me at Shooters last Saturday night and repeatedly telling me about how that interview with Goldman Sachs was a slam dunk.

Me: Currently failing Orgo and has a certain standard of living to maintain.

 

You: not physically intimidating and pretty decent personality-wise, smiled at me during the Mirecourt-Mundi mixer last week.

Me: emotionally vulnerable and acutely aware of how stress eating and lack of sleep has begun to manifest on my body. Feel like settling yet? Let’s get coffee.

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