Chapter 29 Public Soft Launch
If there was one thing Oom Eisaya had learned over the past few weeks, it was this:
Peace never lasted long.
Especially not when her girlfriend—yes, girlfriend, she still wasn’t used to that word—was Bam Saralee.
Because peace, apparently, came with consequences.
Public consequences.
Embarrassing consequences.
Campus-wide consequences.
“…I don’t think I’m ready for this,” Oom whispered.
“You said that yesterday,” Yada replied, sipping her iced coffee like she was about to watch a live show.
“And I meant it yesterday.”
“And yet, here you are.”
Oom clutched her bag tighter.
“…what if people notice?”
Yada looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Then burst out laughing.
“Oom.”
“What?”
“People have always noticed.”
Oom froze.
“…what do you mean.”
“You’re the only one who didn’t.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“That’s reality.”
Oom groaned.
“I hate reality.”
“You love her.”
“…I do.”
“Then deal with reality.”
Oom sighed.
“Why are you like this.”
“Because I’m right.”
“Unfortunately.”
---
The moment they stepped onto campus, Oom immediately felt it.
Eyes.
Not obvious.
Not exaggerated.
But there.
Lingering.
Curious.
Observant.
“…they’re looking,” Oom muttered.
“They’re always looking,” Yada said casually.
“No, this is different.”
“Everything feels different to you right now.”
“That’s because everything is different.”
Yada smirked.
“Good.”
Oom was about to respond—
When she saw her.
Bam.
Walking toward them.
Calm.
Composed.
Effortlessly put together.
Like she hadn’t completely altered Oom’s entire emotional stability.
“…oh no,” Oom whispered.
“Oh yes,” Yada corrected.
“Don’t leave me.”
“I’m absolutely leaving you.”
“Yada.”
“You’ll survive.”
Yada patted her shoulder.
Then stepped aside.
Traitor.
---
Bam stopped in front of her.
Close.
Not too close.
But close enough that Oom forgot how breathing worked.
“…hi,” Oom said.
“Hi.”
Short.
Simple.
But the tone—
Soft.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
“…you look normal,” Oom blurted out.
Bam raised an eyebrow.
“I am normal.”
“That’s suspicious.”
Bam’s lips curved faintly.
“You’re not.”
“That’s also suspicious.”
Bam stepped closer.
Just slightly.
Enough to close the gap.
Enough to make Oom’s heart panic.
“…you’re nervous,” Bam observed.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m always like this.”
“That’s true.”
Oom narrowed her eyes.
“That was not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Oom opened her mouth—
Then froze.
Because Bam’s hand—
Moved.
Casually.
Naturally.
Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
She reached for Oom’s hand.
And held it.
Right there.
In the middle of campus.
Oom short-circuited.
“…you can’t do that here,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“People will see.”
“They already are.”
Oom panicked.
“…this is public.”
“Yes.”
“This is very public.”
“Yes.”
Oom stared at her.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
Bam tilted her head slightly.
“Maybe.”
Oom’s brain gave up.
---
Across the walkway, a group of students slowed down.
“…is that Bam?”
“…she’s holding someone’s hand.”
“…wait, what?”
“…who is that?”
“…that’s Oom, right? Architecture?”
“…since when—?”
“…what is happening?”
“…am I hallucinating?”
---
Oom could feel it.
The attention.
The whispers.
The subtle chaos building around them.
“…we need to leave,” she muttered.
“Why?”
“Because I’m about to evaporate.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
Bam’s grip tightened slightly.
Grounding.
Steady.
“You’re fine.”
“I’m not fine.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Oom exhaled sharply.
“…you’re enjoying this.”
Bam didn’t deny it.
“I am.”
“You’re evil.”
“That’s new.”
“No, it’s not.”
Bam smiled faintly.
And that—
That smile—
Directed at her—
In public—
Was worse.
So much worse.
---
They walked together.
Hand in hand.
Like it was normal.
Like it had always been this way.
And maybe—
For Bam—
It was becoming that.
But for Oom—
It was a full emotional crisis.
“…my reputation is over,” she muttered.
“What reputation?”
“My introvert reputation.”
“That was already gone.”
“…rude.”
“Accurate.”
Oom huffed.
“I was quiet.”
“You still are.”
“I was reserved.”
“You still are.”
“I was mysterious.”
“You were never mysterious.”
Oom stopped walking.
“…I was mysterious.”
Bam turned to face her.
Studied her for a moment.
Then—
“No.”
Oom gasped.
“That’s offensive.”
“That’s honest.”
“I hate honesty.”
“I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t.”
---
They reached the courtyard.
And unfortunately—
So did everyone else.
More students.
More eyes.
More chaos.
“…this is a bad idea,” Oom whispered.
“It’s just walking.”
“It’s not just walking.”
Bam glanced at her.
“…what is it, then?”
Oom hesitated.
“…it’s you.”
Bam tilted her head.
“…me?”
“You’re… you.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“You’re popular.”
“So?”
“So people notice you.”
“And?”
“And now they’re noticing me.”
“That’s already happened.”
“This is worse.”
“Why?”
“Because now they know why.”
Bam considered that.
“…does it matter?”
Oom paused.
Because—
That question—
Was dangerous.
“…no,” she admitted quietly.
“It doesn’t.”
Bam’s fingers tightened slightly around hers.
“Then don’t worry about it.”
Oom exhaled slowly.
“…okay.”
---
They sat on a bench.
Still close.
Still connected.
Still—
Very visible.
Oom stared straight ahead.
“…I can feel them staring.”
“They’re curious.”
“They’re nosy.”
“That too.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You will.”
Oom sighed.
“…you’re too calm.”
“I’m always calm.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is now.”
Oom glanced at her.
“…you really are like this now.”
“Yes.”
“All the time.”
“Yes.”
“…that’s dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m weak.”
Bam’s lips curved again.
“You’ll survive.”
Oom looked away.
“…you keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
---
A moment passed.
Quiet.
Soft.
Then—
Bam moved.
Oom didn’t notice at first.
Not until—
Warmth.
Against her cheek.
A soft press.
Light.
Quick.
But undeniable.
Oom froze.
Completely.
Entirely.
“…did you just—”
“Yes.”
Oom turned to her slowly.
“…in public?”
“Yes.”
“…on my face?”
“Yes.”
“…on purpose?”
“Yes.”
Oom’s brain shut down.
---
Across the courtyard—
“…SHE KISSED HER.”
“…NO WAY.”
“…IN PUBLIC??”
“…BAM SARAL—”
“…SHUT UP.”
“…THIS IS HISTORY.”
---
Oom covered her face.
“I’m done.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“I’m underreacting!”
Bam watched her.
Amused.
Soft.
Present.
“…you’re cute,” she said.
Oom peeked through her fingers.
“…don’t say that here.”
“Why not?”
“Because I will combust.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Bam leaned slightly closer.
Lowered her voice.
“…only you get like this with me.”
Oom froze.
Because that—
That wasn’t just teasing.
That was—
Intentional.
And suddenly—
The crowd didn’t matter.
The whispers didn’t matter.
The attention didn’t matter.
Because Bam—
Was choosing her.
Openly.
Casually.
Consistently.
“…okay,” Oom whispered.
Bam tilted her head.
“Okay?”
“…okay.”
And for the first time—
Oom didn’t feel like running.
Not from the attention.
Not from the feelings.
Not from her.
Just—
Stayed.
Right there.
With Bam.
Hand in hand.
Heart steady.
And finally—
Not afraid.