Last summer, Remi met Ben at a party she hadn’t planned on attending. It was one of those rooftop gatherings with too much beer, empty tequila bottles and enough ‘creative strategists’ to fill a marketing firm. She was standing by the cooler, fishing for a Bud Light, when she overheard a voice that stopped her. It sounded so familiar, like someone she definitely went to college with. But when she turned around, she couldn’t quite place the face. He was just a guy in a faded Mets hat holding court about how Barbenheimer “will be studied in branding courses for the next 50 years.” She snorted—out loud, apparently—because a second later, he turned to her and said, “What, you disagree?”
Fast forward an hour and the pair were perched on an overturned milk crate, deep in conversation. And the strange part wasn’t just that she liked him—especially with this crowd. It was that, still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d met him before. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you live in 4F?” She did. “I’m 4G,” he smirked. And that was only the beginning.
They’d apparently lived across the hall from each other for the better part of a year. And then she discovered that they both grew up in Westchester, two towns apart. They used to go to the same house parties in high school—the ones with jungle juice in Gatorade coolers and moms who were just glad the kids were safe. He’d even been in the same frat as her cousin at Syracuse.
This, friends, is what TikTok would call the “Invisible String Theory” at work.