It wasn’t.
Across the aisle, a girl whispers something to her friend, and they both laugh. I flinch before I can stop it, even though it probably has nothing to do with me. My skin feels too thin today. I tap my pen twice, then force my focus back to the front.
When class ends, everyone stands at once like they’re part of a coordinated evacuation. I wait until the room thins, then slip out, letting the crowd pass so I don’t have to navigate bodies and voices all at once. Outside, the sun is bright, and the air is warm for October. A light breeze carries the smell of eucalyptus from somewhere.
California is pretty.
California is also loud.
I check my schedule and see my next class isn’t for another two hours, which means I have a choice.
Choice is another thing my brain likes to pretend I don’t have. I could go back to my dorm, curl up with my book, and hide from the world like a responsible introvert. Or I could prove to myself I’m not just surviving campus—I’m living on it.
My stomach does a small, unhelpful flip.
I turn toward the coffee shop on Main because it’s become my halfway point between hiding and trying. Familiar enough to feel safe. Public enough to count as “being a person.”
Apparently, everyone on campus has decided caffeine is the only acceptable coping skill because the line is already stretched to the door. I stand near the back, phone in hand, staring at the menu even though I always order one of two things.
On good days, I order an iced vanilla latte, extra sweet, topped with vanilla cold foam.
On not so good days, I get a sugar free, iced vanilla latte with almond milk, extra sweet.
My brain likes the ritual. The certainty.
The girl in front of me bounces on her toes. A guy behind me is talking loudly about protein macros like that’s a normal conversation to have at 10:13 a.m.I breathe in slowly through my nose, then out through my mouth. It’s just coffee. It’s just noise. You can do hard things.
My phone vibrates with a message.
Wren: Why are they so obsessed with me?
Attached is a picture of a ton of birds covering most of a sidewalk and a grinning Wren right in the middle of them all. You can tell by the bag hanging from her pocket that she just fed them and has bribed her new friends with treats.
I love how she looks at life. She can truly find a positive in nearly any and every situation, and her timing this morning is no different.
Harlow: I would assume it has something to do with the treats you gave them.
Wren: I’d never do such a thing. They love me for my personality.
Shaking my head, I put my phone back in my pocket as the line inches forward.
A body brushes past my shoulder, close enough that I catch a familiar scent—clean soap and something crisp like mint. My head snaps up before I can stop it.
Grayson Bennett is at the pickup counter, reaching for a coffee cup.
My body tenses slightly, that sense of awareness once again coming to the surface. I don’t know why I’m curious about him, but I am.
He looks softer in a PCU hoodie and sweats, hair pushed back like he ran his hands through it ten seconds ago. He turns slightly, gaze flicking toward the line as if it were pulled there, and his eyes meet mine.
For a second, everything stills.
Then his mouth quirks—small, quick—like a smile that doesn’t want attention.
I hate that it makes me want to return it.
He steps away from the counter and moves toward the door. Disappointment creeps in, irritating and stupid, but it doesn’t have time to take hold because he slows when he reaches my spot in line.
“Hey,” he says, low enough that it’s just for me.
