Chapter 1: The Night I Rejected Grant Collins

Scrolling through TikTok before bed, I landed on a vlogger ranking the hottest guys from different colleges—you know, the usual late-night rabbit hole.

The neon glow from my phone screen lit up our pitch-black dorm room, just enough for me to see the wild expressions on the vlogger’s face as she rattled off her rankings. My roommate’s white noise machine was humming in the background, but all my attention was glued to the video.

Our campus heartthrob, Grant Collins, took first place by a landslide. Figures. The guy was basically a campus myth at this point. I mean, he couldn’t walk across the quad without girls—and, honestly, more than a few guys—sneaking glances. Even the professors made jokes about him sometimes, which was both hilarious and a little unsettling.

The comments section was blowing up, everyone thirsting after him.

People were typing so fast you could practically see the keyboard smoke. Heart emojis, fire emojis, and way too many thirsty gifs. Someone even dropped a meme of Ryan Gosling clapping. It was chaos. Honestly, watching the comment section explode was almost more entertaining than the video itself. Did people really think Grant would ever see this?

“I give up. They keep showing off these hotties, but not a single one’s ever gonna end up in my bed.”

One user had written it with a string of dramatic crying emojis. I actually laughed out loud, shaking my head at the desperation and the honesty. I mean, same, girl. Same.

“I honestly don’t get the point of wearing so many layers. That’s why I keep rewatching and analyzing.”

Another commenter was breaking down Grant’s outfit like it was a Super Bowl play. I swear, the internet really does have too much time on its hands.

“The internet sucks. My husband’s in there, and I’m stuck out here, ugh.”

Some people were just out here living in delusion and I kind of respected it. Gotta admire the confidence.

“Oh my god, Grant Collins is so handsome! Who could possibly say no to him? Seriously, who?!”

I quietly muttered to myself, "I could." There was a beat of silence, a little internal 'yeah, right.' I didn’t post it, just whispered it to myself, almost as a dare to the universe. If only they knew what had happened an hour ago.

An hour ago, Grant Collins—the campus golden boy, the guy everyone drooled over—had messaged me out of the blue to confess his feelings.

It still felt surreal, like I’d accidentally fallen into someone else’s rom-com. I kept replaying the moment in my head, half-convinced I’d hallucinated it.

He said he liked me.

No flowery speech, no cheesy lines. Just a simple, straightforward, “I like you.” It was almost jarring in its honesty.

He wasn’t drunk and texting the wrong person, and it wasn’t some dare from losing a game.

I’d triple-checked the context, waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one. He was stone-cold sober, and every word was clear and deliberate.

He just honestly liked me and wanted to be with me.

It was so genuine that it threw me off. No hidden agenda, no games. Just Grant, being… well, Grant.

I was so startled I rejected him on the spot.

My thumb had hovered over my phone, brain short-circuiting. I panicked and hit send on a rejection before I could even process what was happening. Classic me.

Even after, my heart was still pounding. How could he possibly like me?

I lay back on my pillow, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all. Was this a prank? Did I misread something? But no, it was real—and my heart wouldn’t stop racing.

I tried to distract myself by watching more videos, but the top-ranked one was still about him.

Every time I scrolled, there he was—Grant’s smile, Grant’s laugh, Grant’s damn jawline. The universe really had jokes tonight.

With a sigh, I decided to switch over to scrolling through my Instagram stories.

My thumb flicked through everyone’s Memorial Day road trips, lakeside selfies, and golden retrievers in sunglasses. I double-tapped with muscle memory, tossing out likes like confetti.

Photos from Memorial Day trips, cute couple selfies, dog-walking pet owners… I liked each one as I scrolled.

Even the couples made me smile, though I felt a tiny twinge of something bittersweet. Maybe envy? Maybe just tiredness.

A notification popped up—someone just posted a new story. I tapped it without thinking and saw it was from Grant Collins.

His profile picture—him and his dog, both grinning—popped up at the top of my feed. I hesitated, then tapped anyway. Curiosity always wins.

Grant Collins: “Got rejected after confessing. I’m going downstairs to buy cigarettes. Not taking the elevator, not taking the stairs.”

I froze for a second.

My brain tried to process his words, but they didn’t add up. Was this a joke? Was he okay?

If he’s not taking the elevator or stairs, then how’s he going to get downstairs?

My stomach twisted. Was he hinting at something dark? Was he trying to be funny, or was this serious?

My breath caught.

My fingers flew across the screen as I opened his chat, my heart hammering. I couldn’t risk ignoring this.

I typed frantically: “Don’t do anything stupid!”

My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone. I barely breathed as I waited for his reply.

“Not worth it,” Grant replied.

My chest tightened. His words felt like a punch. I started typing again, refusing to let him spiral.

I kept trying to talk him down. “How can you say it’s not worth it?”

I said, “I just saw you take first place in the campus heartthrob rankings.”

Anything to remind him he mattered, that people cared—even if it was for something as shallow as looks.

Grant sounded utterly defeated: “What’s the point? I still got rejected.”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his disappointment. I wanted to reach through the screen and shake him.

“…"

I stared at the blinking cursor, not sure what to say next. Sometimes words just aren’t enough.

He sent another message: “I’m done talking. I’m going downstairs to buy cigarettes.”

My heart leapt into my throat. I couldn’t let him end the conversation like that.

“No, no, wait!” I hurried to stop him. “Don’t do anything rash. We can talk this out.”

I could almost see him, standing by his door, debating whether to leave. The silence on his end was torture.

He didn’t reply right away.

I stared at my phone, knuckles white, imagining the worst. My mind raced through every possible scenario, none of them good.

I got so nervous I started imagining he’d actually jumped when suddenly his message came through: “So… being together… is that still up for discussion?”

Relief hit me so hard I nearly dropped my phone. I swallowed, hands trembling, and typed back as fast as I could.

Swallowing my nerves, I replied, “It is.”

My heart was pounding so loud I was sure my roommate could hear it.

Then I added, “So don’t go downstairs, okay?”

I stared at the message, hoping it would be enough. Please let it be enough.

“Okay,” he answered.

The word felt like a lifeline. I finally let out a shaky breath and felt my heart settle back in my chest.

I slumped back against my pillows, relief and exhaustion washing over me all at once. I hadn’t realized just how tense I’d been until that moment.

My fear that Grant might actually jump wasn’t unfounded.

The thought had clawed at the back of my mind ever since I saw his story. I knew his struggles better than most.

We met through the school’s mental health peer support group.

It wasn’t exactly fate—just a university program, but it felt like something more now. Funny how life works.

I was the helper, he was the one being helped.

Our roles were clear from the start. I was supposed to be the one with answers, the one who kept it together.

I’m a junior majoring in psychology.

I’d chosen the major because I wanted to help people, to make a difference. I never imagined it would get this personal.

To help students practice counseling skills—and to deal with the shortage of counselors—the school set up a “peer support” program pairing students one-on-one.

It was a pretty forward-thinking move for our campus. The idea was to give psych students real experience while providing support for classmates who needed it. Still, I never thought I’d end up paired with someone like Grant.

My assigned partner was none other than campus heartthrob Grant Collins.

When I saw his name on the list, I thought it was some kind of joke. But no, it was real. The Grant Collins, in need of support.

Let’s just say, you never really know someone until you get to know them—and what I found out shocked me.

Everyone sees the perfect surface, but nobody looks for the cracks. I was about to learn just how many he had.

Beneath Grant’s flawless, dazzling exterior was a heart riddled with scars.

He wore confidence like a mask, but the more we talked, the more I saw the worry lines and shadows he tried to hide.

He was top of his class, but he had brutal pre-exam anxiety.

He’d ace every test, but the nights before were torture for him. He’d text me at 2 a.m., panicking over nothing and everything.

He regularly hosted big campus events, yet he still got camera-shy.

He could work a crowd, sure, but I’d seen him freeze up backstage, hands shaking, eyes darting everywhere. It was like watching Superman sweat.

He seemed effortless in social situations, but he actually had severe social anxiety.

He was always surrounded by people, but I could tell it exhausted him. The smile never quite reached his eyes when he was offstage.

And even though he looked perfect, he struggled with deep insecurities about his appearance.

He’d make offhand comments about his nose, his hair, his smile—things nobody else even noticed. Sometimes I wondered if he ever saw himself the way others did.

Honestly… he was a mess in every department. Like, if his life were a house, the lawn would be pristine but the pipes would be leaking and the wallpaper peeling inside. If only people knew.

So when someone like him talked about jumping after being rejected, I couldn’t help but worry he might also be hiding depression.

I’d learned in class that the best-looking people sometimes hide the deepest pain. With Grant, I saw it firsthand.

Once I’d calmed Grant down, I jotted down the latest developments in my notebook and started looking into better counseling strategies for him.

I flipped through my old textbooks, searching for new ideas. Honestly, I felt out of my depth. Sometimes, even all the textbook knowledge in the world doesn’t feel like enough.

Suddenly, my phone lit up.

My nerves spiked. Was it Grant again? I grabbed my phone, heart racing.

Afraid he might be having another crisis, I hurried to check—only to see it was a message from my roommate.

Relief, then a weird sense of guilt for feeling relieved. I opened the chat anyway.

Roommate: “Get over here! There’s juicy gossip on the forum!”

Roommate: “Campus heartthrob just got rejected!”

Roommate: “Whoa! So who rejected him?!”

I opened the campus forum.

The homepage was ablaze with Grant’s name in all caps. I had a bad feeling about this.

A post about Grant’s confession being rejected was pinned to the top, and in no time, it became a trending topic.

The post was full of exclamation marks and dramatic emojis. Someone had even attached a blurry photo of Grant, looking downcast.

OP: “Shocking! Our campus heartthrob threatened to jump after getting rejected! (pic)”

My jaw dropped. It was one thing to gossip, but this was next-level.

The comment section exploded.

It was like a digital feeding frenzy. People had no chill.

Some people were stunned that anyone would reject Grant, others were dying to know who did it, and a few were snarky:

“What’s the point of being that good-looking? Still can’t get the girl.”

The snark stung, even though it wasn’t aimed at me. People could be so heartless online.

And there were plenty of comments like that.

Every other comment seemed to be a variation on the same theme: how could anyone say no to Grant Collins?

Worried that Grant would see it and get even more upset, I was racking my brain for ways to keep him off the forum when he messaged me first.

My phone buzzed again. I braced myself, hoping he wasn’t spiraling.

Grant: “So… being together is still up for discussion, right?”

I quickly replied, “Yes.”

I didn’t even hesitate. I just wanted to keep him safe, keep him talking.

He asked again, “So I still have a chance?”

I said, “Yeah, yeah.”

I could almost hear the hope in his voice. It made me smile, just a little.

He sent me a cute heart emoji.

My cheeks warmed. Even in the middle of a crisis, he found a way to be sweet.

I finally relaxed a little.

For a second, it felt like things might actually be okay.

But not even thirty seconds later, my gossip-loving roommate sent another update.

Roommate: “OMG! Grant replied to the thread!”

I rushed back to the forum.

My hands were practically shaking as I refreshed the page. The post had blown up even more.

Sure enough, there was Grant’s latest comment, complete with a screenshot.

GC: “Ha, I wasn’t rejected. She said I still have a chance!”

He’d dropped the screenshot like a mic. The thread went wild.

The screenshot was of our chat.

I froze, eyes darting over every word. Did he leave anything identifying?

My heart skipped a beat as I clicked it, nervous.

Please, please, please…

Thankfully, Grant had remembered to crop out my name—at least he didn’t expose my identity.

I let out a shaky sigh. At least he wasn’t totally clueless.

But he forgot to crop my avatar!

There, in all its glory, was my cartoon Peppa Pig celebrating New Year’s. I thought, well, this is it.

I stared at my phone in horror. Of all the avatars, why did I pick that one?

Step one of saving myself: change my avatar.

No hesitation. I swapped it for a picture of an angelic puppy. Nobody could trace that, right?

Maya: “Wait, the person who rejected the campus heartthrob has the same avatar as you!”

I could almost hear her voice through the wall, gleeful and suspicious.

Maya: “I have a wild guess!”

I could see the dots as she typed. My heart pounded. Oh god, oh god.

Maya: “Girl… was it you?”

I lied through my teeth: “Huh? Not me. I just changed my avatar this afternoon. Maybe your app didn’t refresh?”

I tried to sound as casual as possible, hoping she’d buy it.

She probably went to check, and a few seconds later, she messaged again.

Maya: “Oops, my bad.”

I let out a slow breath. At least I dodged that one.

I slumped down in my chair, grateful for small mercies. Maybe my luck wasn’t so bad after all.

But the forum drama wasn’t over yet.

Like a wildfire, the thread just kept growing. I couldn’t look away, even though I knew I should.

Thanks to Grant’s reply, the post only got more popular.

Every refresh brought new comments, new theories, new drama. I felt like I was watching a train wreck in slow motion.

People were dissecting every word, analyzing even the punctuation.

Lex: “Total simp, confirmed.”

Casey: “So desperate… I thought guys like Grant wouldn’t suffer for love, guess I was wrong.”

Sunny: “I feel better now! If even someone as handsome as Grant is a doormat, then what’s wrong with me simping a little?”

The comments were relentless, and I felt a weird mix of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment.

And there were tons more like that.

I scrolled and scrolled, my thumb starting to cramp. The internet never sleeps.

The thread was full of terms like “down bad,” “simp,” “backup plan.” I winced at how fast online slang changed—half those words would be out of style next week. People could be brutal when hiding behind a screen.

I worried Grant would see it and get hurt again. Just as I was trying to figure out how to fix it, I refreshed the page—and it was gone. 404.

I blinked, surprised. Did someone report it? Did a mod finally step in?

The thread had vanished.

It was like the digital world had swallowed it whole. I stared at my screen, half-relieved, half-worried about what would come next.

No idea if it got reported or if a mod cleaned it up.

Either way, at least it was over.

For now, at least. I took a deep breath, trying to let the tension go.

I let out a long sigh of relief.

My shoulders finally dropped. I allowed myself a small smile. Maybe things would quiet down now.