Captured Heart

4. Katelyn

T he morning air is crisp, making me pull my jacket tighter as Karmani and I walk to the campus coffee shop, Café Al Mada. It’s my favorite café, and despite Karmani's best efforts to make me try something new, we come here every morning.

It’s already November, and the trees lining the path are turning gold, their leaves scattering across the ground in little bursts of color. The sun is still shining, but there’s a chill in the breeze. It’s a reminder that Berkeley’s fall isn’t all warm pumpkin spice vibes.

The coffee shop is a haven from the cold. As we step inside, the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon hits me immediately, cozy and comforting. Students are crammed around tables, laptops open while they clutch onto their cups of coffee for warmth. The baristas are moving with practiced efficiency, calling out orders as steam rises from the machines.

Karmani breezes in like she owns the place, flipping her sleek, jet-black hair over her shoulder. She’s already frantically typing on her phone as we join the line, though I’m not sure which mere mortal has pissed her off this morning. Her jacket, a distressed denim masterpiece, looks like something off a runway, and her hoop earrings glint under the warm lighting.

“They better still have the pumpkin muffins,” she says without looking up. “I’m telling you right now, Kate, if they don’t, I will cause a scene.”

Ah, and the mystery mortal is revealed. I know that tone, and I know exactly who caused this foul mood. It was Zayn. The two of them have this weird hate-hate relationship. He hates her because he thinks she’s fake and full of herself. She hates him because she thinks he’s rude and condescending.

They were allocated as each other’s lab partners last year, and it got so bad Professor Montgomery had to separate them. I’m not complaining, though. I was her new assigned lab partner and we’ve been friends ever since.

“In the mood you’re in, you’d cause a scene even if they had them.”

“True,” she says with zero shame, finally glancing at me. “And you, Miss Iced Coffee All Year Round? Are we feeling adventurous today, or sticking to the usual?”

“I like my usual,” I say, defensively clutching my bag.

“That’s your problem.” She wags a perfectly manicured finger at me. “You’re always playing it safe. Where’s the drama? The excitement?”

“I have enough excitement, thank you. Enzymes and proteins keep me very entertained.”

“Girl, you’re a genius,” she says, and I know what’s coming next. “But let’s be so for real right now. Your life is a literal snoozefest. Who cares about enzymes or proteins or...whatever else? I know I certainly don’t.”

I half-smile because this is exactly why Zayn thinks she’s fake. She pretends she hates all this stuff, constantly saying it’s boring, but she loves it as much as I do; if not more. She dumbs herself down and acts as if she’s failing to fit in with the party crowd.

All the compliments she gets from the football team keep her on a dopamine high, and she’s always looking to get her next fix. Now, I’m not judging. I, too, fell prey to the charms of one particular football player, but I at least learned my lesson and moved on.

Karmani, on the other hand, can’t get enough of the lies and incessant drama. She’s constantly seeking their validation. In our freshman year, she point-blank denied that she was even studying biochemistry. She went around telling everyone she was a romance literature student. I didn’t even know that was a legit degree they offered here until she told me about the whole sordid debacle where Zayn publicly called her out in front of all her friends. And so began the feud between the two of them.

“I kinda think you care,” I say, and all I get back is an eye roll.

Now, I may be friends with Karmani, but I am one hundred percent on Zayn’s side on this issue. This degree will allow us to make real change in the world one day, and she takes that for granted. We worked exceptionally hard to get here, and she downplays that for the sake of popularity. It’s silly.

I, for one, could never do that. My purpose is clear. I know exactly why I’m here and what I want to achieve. I owe that to my grandad because if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have chosen this career path.

As a little girl, he used to sit me on his knee and tell me stories about when he was a young biochemist, working on breakthroughs. It all felt like magic to me back then. He had a way of making even the most complex science sound like an adventure.

When I was ten, I spent a summer watching him work on an experiment in his garage-turned-lab. He explained things like protein structures and molecular bonds with a patience that only he had. By the end of that summer, I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

But he got sick when I was sixteen.

Cancer. It crept in like a thief, stealing the light from his eyes and the strength from his hands. Watching him deteriorate was like watching my whole world crumble. He’d been my hero, my rock, and seeing him weak and frail was more than I could bear.

The worst part was the helplessness. The doctors said there was nothing they could do, and I hated them for it. I hated myself for not being able to help. I was useless to him.

The day he passed, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I remember holding his hand, cold and lifeless, and making a promise to him, to myself, that I would dedicate my life to finding answers, to understanding the science that had failed him.

It’s why I’m here, why I work so hard.

Why I can’t afford any distractions.

We reach the counter, and I order my boring iced coffee while she gets her pumpkin muffin and a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream. As we move to the pickup area, I decide to change the subject before she lumps me in with Zayn as the co-conspirator of her bad mood.

“So, Corey and I are going to—”

I’m cut off when my phone buzzes in my pocket. One glance at the screen, and my heart does a ridiculous jump, trying to leap straight out of my chest. I freeze for a second, and for some reason, I’m nervous to answer.

“Who is that?” Karmani asks. “Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing. It’s just hot in here.”

That sets off her bullshit barometer because her mouth drops open and her brown eyes light up with glee. “Who is that?”

“Shhh!” I give her a warning look before stepping away to answer the call. “Alex?”

“Katie.” His thick, raspy voice wraps around that single word tight enough to fluster me on the other side.

“Hi!” I immediately notice how high-pitched my voice is and try to tamper it back down to normal . Not giddy. Definitely not giddy. “How are you?”

“Good.”

The curt reply is oddly something I expect from him. The man does not smile. At. All. He didn’t smile when I met him. He didn’t smile when I thanked him for fixing my car. He didn’t even crack a smile at my engine light joke. And yeah, it was corny, but his lips barely twitched at that.

“I haven’t heard from you, so I take it your car is running fine. No trouble?” He’s cold and direct, like he has no time for pleasantries.

“Yes, it’s been running fine. No issues.” My escalating nervousness makes me clutch my phone even tighter. “Thanks again for fixing it.”

“Happy to help. Just wanted to make sure. Let me know if anything comes up.”

“Yes! Thanks!” There’s that overenthusiasm again, and I clear my throat to bring my voice down to something less than an excited screech. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Take care, Katie,” he says, and the line clicks off.

That’s it? I don’t want to admit this...even to myself, but I’m feeling very under whelmed right now. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I guess I just wanted more...than that .

Why, though?

I don’t even know this guy. I just met him yesterday.

I lower the phone slowly, but Karmani’s already watching me with the intensity of a hawk stalking its prey.

“So, I can conclude two things after that call,” she says, her grin widening as she hands me my iced coffee. “That was a guy. And you are so into him.”

“I am not,” I protest, though I know my face betrays me because I feel another traitorous blush rise to my cheeks.

It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t be acting like this. I’m not into him. Granted, I’m the tiniest bit intrigued, and now that I’m thinking about him, I’m sorta...kinda... very flustered.

“So, what’s his name?”

“Alex.” I shake my head. “No, wait. His name is actually John. I just call him Alex.” I nudge her into movement, and we walk out of the coffee shop.

“Aw! You guys are already at the cute nickname phase. No wonder you’re swooning.”

“I’m not swooning,” I take a sip of my coffee. “I swore off men, remember? Besides, I’m too busy to swoon. Do you know how much work I have this week?”

“Ugh! Kate, stop it.” She lets out an exaggerated groan. “Assignments and projects are not the end all, be all of the entire universe. I know that asshole broke your heart, but you can’t keep shielding yourself from the real world by hiding away in your books all the time.”

Karmani does that from time to time. Delivers the truth in such a brutal way that it leaves me wounded. Jason was everything I thought I wanted. Charming, good-looking, and sweet. At least at first. We met in my freshman year, and I fell hard. I thought we were building something real. But it was all a facade, and I fell for that, too.

My grandmother was a wise woman, and when I started dating in high school, she gave me some great advice. She said: Miryou ni madowasareru to, akai hata ga pinku ni mieru mono da yo , which in essence means: When you’re dazzled by attraction, red flags start to look pink.

The problem is, I never heeded her advice. Jason was so dazzlingly handsome in my eyes that I ignored issue after issue, red flag after red flag. And my inability to stand my ground and voice my concerns led to me walking in on him naked in a hot tub with two cheerleaders.

Even now, the memory still stings like salt in an open wound. The humiliation and betrayal cut me to my very core. People were laughing behind my back for a month, whispering about my most embarrassing moment as I walked by.

That’s the price you pay for dating the popular jock, I guess. But it wasn’t just the betrayal that gutted me; it was what came after. The excuses, the gaslighting. He told me he deserved more than a part-time girlfriend , that I had been far too busy with school, and he’d felt neglected.

Talk about having the emotional maturity of a three-year-old. He knew how heavy my workload was before we started dating. He said he was fine with it, so for him to throw my hard work and dedication back in my face as the reason he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants was such a slap in the face. And when I called him out on exactly that, didn’t this bastard turn around and tell me that the reason he cheated was because I was boring .

Yep. That’s what he said. I was boring in bed. Boring in conversation. Boring in every conceivable way.

I was just a boring bore of a person, and instead of telling me that to my face (like Karmani constantly does), he went behind my back and screwed other women who were obviously far more exciting than me.

Now, I’ll admit, I’m rigid in my ways. I like things how I like them, and I don’t respond well to sudden change or any spontaneity in general. But to be told that I’m boring hit me in a way I still haven’t recovered from. I don’t think my self-esteem will ever be the same again.

I’ve replayed that conversation so many times, trying to figure out how I could have done better, been more. But no matter how many ways I twist it, the truth remains the same. I am who I am, and he just didn’t like... me .

Despite my shattered heart, I’ve chosen to see the silver lining instead of the cloud. And the silver lining is that I walked away with some valuable life lessons. My tolerance for bullshit is now at zero, and I also learned to speak up for myself. If something bothers me, I’ll voice my concerns then and there and not play games. Meek and mild-mannered Katelyn no longer exists because trying to accommodate someone else’s feelings will inevitably lead to my own getting trampled on.

I sigh, slowly letting out all my disappointment as I exhale. “Well, the world is going to have to wait a few more weeks for me. Everything is taking a backseat until Corey and I are done with this project.”

“Whatever.” With another groan and an eye roll, she pulls me in for a quick hug. “You do you. I’m going to the mall with Derek, so I’ll see you later.”

“At the library?” I ask.

She quickly looks around to make sure no one heard that. “Yes,” she spits out, shooting daggers at me with her eyes as she lowers her voice to a whisper. “At the library.”

“Okay, then. See you at the library .”

“Why do you insist on doing that?” Her resting bitch face is now on full display. “I swear sometimes you’re worse than Zayn.”

“You know, you can’t keep shielding the world from the real you by hiding your books away all the time.”

“Dammit.” She purses her lips and stares me down for a minute. “I guess I deserved that.”

“You did.” I smile because that’s how easy it is for us to reach a resolution.

“Alright. I’ll see you later.”

I watch her disappear from view before I turn and walk in the opposite direction toward the library. The brisk fall air greets me like a splash of cold water. It wakes me up, which is good because I need to focus. The walk to the library isn’t far, but my mind drifts as I sip my iced coffee. Alex’s call is replaying in my head on repeat because I can’t seem to get a read on this guy.

When I first met him yesterday, I thought he was weird. It was even weirder that he was hanging out with Corey because I thought Zayn and I were his only friends. But regardless, I didn’t question it too much. After my playful tease about his name didn’t garner so much as a smile out of him, I thought his lack of social skills was the probable reason he was friends with Corey.

However, in the parking lot, I started feeling a little uneasy. He was kind and helpful at first, but then, out of the blue, he demanded to follow me home. I thought he was a creep for sure. The type of guy who takes advantage of women in vulnerable situations.

But with just the slightest pushback, he relented. So, I left the gym yesterday thinking that I’d overreacted and inadvertently insulted a guy who was just trying to be nice to me.

And then on the drive home, an odd thought popped into my head. I began to toy with the idea that maybe he did use the situation to his advantage, but it was just to get my number. He had a valid reason to ask for it, but part of me wants to believe he had other intentions.

Now, I know I’ve sworn off men. I’m not interested. I need to focus on my studies. Blah, blah, blah, and all that jazz.

I am also very appreciative that he called to check on me.

But the fact that’s all he called me for...is the reason I’m currently working myself up into a twisted ball of anxiety. Checking in wasn’t just an excuse to talk to me, and that’s bugging me because I wanted the conversation to last for a little more than a minute.

The leaves crunch under my sneakers as I cut across Memorial Glade, the golden light of the morning filtering through the trees. The campus is alive with its usual rhythm, and I hear the faint sound of a guitar from someone perched under a tree mixing with the hum of chitter-chatter.

It’s a soothing sound, yet it always manages to frustrate the hell out of me. Sometimes it feels like it’s only us in the STEM field who are stressed out of our minds, running around like headless chickens every second of the day. Some of the other students get to lounge around under a tree, enjoying the sweet chords of a guitar. Must be nice.

I’m distracted enough to not notice anyone until I slam straight into the hard, muscled wall of someone’s chest.

“Whoa. Slow down, there,” a familiar voice says, gripping my arm to steady me.

“Oh my God, Alex! I’m so sorry!” I blurt out, clutching my coffee tighter, but I still lose more than half of it. Thankfully, only a tiny drop lands on his gray jacket, so no harm done. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly. You alright?”

I nod, my heart doing this weird little stutter that I blame on the suddenness of the encounter. Not on him. Definitely not on him.

I don’t care that he’s somehow better looking than he was yesterday. His cap hid his face a bit and the gym lighting wasn’t really flattering. But now, with the natural morning sunlight gleaming against his skin, I can clearly see his sharp jawline, which is softened by a hint of stubble. I can see his strong, lean frame and his broad chest, which looks like it was made to cushion a woman’s head.

He's not very tall, maybe about five-ten, but his posture is ramrod straight, so it still feels like he’s towering above me. And this guy is pure muscle. Just taut, cut, well-defined muscle. I don’t want to admit it, but being this close to him is sort of...intimidating.

Yet despite all that, what catches my attention the most are his eyes. Dark, deep, stormy gray eyes. There’s something so strange and mysterious about them, like they hold a thousand secrets. They flicker with something. Intensity? Danger?

It doesn’t matter anyway, because I don’t care about any of it. So, what if he’s kinda gorgeous? I barely even noticed that very unimpressive trait. Doesn’t faze me one bit because I am focused on my project, not tall, intriguing men with buzz cuts.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, more to distract myself than anything else.

“Just...” He pauses, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. “I’m just taking a quick walk to clear my head. What about you?”

“Heading to the library,” I say, gesturing in its direction. “We’ve got a big project due.”

“Yeah? Is it more interesting than the assignment you were proofreading yesterday?”

There still isn’t a glimmer of a smile or any type of expression, really. But I detect the slightest hint of curiosity.

“It is actually. Corey and I are trying to identify and characterize specific protein kinases that play a crucial role in the proliferation of cancer cells. And then we also want to explore potential inhibitors that could disrupt these kinases and ultimately halt the growth of cancer cells. We think it could be a breakthrough in—” I stop short when I realize I’m rambling. It’s exactly this trait of mine that my ex found incredibly boring. “Sorry. Sometimes my passion gets the better of me, and my mouth kinda...runs away.”

“Don’t worry about it. Corey does that too, but...you’re a lot nicer to listen to.”

That small, relatively lifeless statement didn’t just bowl me over, did it? I’m stronger than that. I’m not taken in by mediocre lines like that and yet...

And yet it seems like Karmani’s crackhead response to dopamine highs must have rubbed off on me because I can’t just leave that statement hanging. I need to hear more. “And why is that?”

“Well...” Again, he pauses, thinking carefully about his response. “Let’s just say that in the last few years, I’ve spent a lot of time around dudes and, uh, I guess...the soft voice...the pretty face...it’s a welcomed change.”

Oh, my God! He thinks I’m pretty. One part of me wants to push for more, but the other part steers me away from the happy juice before I become a crackhead, too. I’m going to cash in while I’m ahead. Winners know when to stop. Instead, I keep the conversation neutral, as if I’m not swooning just a tiny bit inside.

“Oh, you’re an engineering student.”

Curiosity flickers on his face once more. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s sort of obvious to deduce. Medicine and biochemistry have quite a few girls, but the faculty just can’t seem to get the numbers up in engineering. It’s all dudes. Besides, I’ve met enough of them to know that you fit right in with that crowd.”

“I’m gonna caution you not to make assumptions about me. I can assure you I’m not like the engineering crowd at all.”

A giggle pops out of me because it’s a little absurd how oblivious he is to his own personality. “Of course you are. You’re so serious. This is only the second time I’ve spoken to you, but I can tell you’re not easily humored or amused. And you also walk around like you’re just hating life.”

“That’s not true. I’m mildly amused right now.”

“Hm?” My thumb slides beneath my chain and I toy with my locket as I study him. “And yet there is absolutely no indication of that.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to trust me.” He winks at me, which is the closest thing to playfulness I’ve seen from him. “Listen, I know you’re probably very eager to get back to your books and explore those potential inhibitors you were talking about, but...hang out with me for a bit.”

That was more of a demand than a request. He has an odd way of speaking because he says things in a way that leaves little room for argument. It’s like when he barks out an order, he always expects the response to be an obliging yes . Has no one ever told him no before?

I hate to be the first, but I shouldn’t be hanging out with anyone right now, especially not exceptionally hot mysterious men I’ve known for less than a day. The articles I still need to read and catalog have been piling up. They’re up to my eyeballs now, so I don’t have time to just hang out .

“I can’t,” I reply, my head shaking involuntarily because, for some reason, I already regret my answer. “It’s Thursday. It’s the only day I don’t meet with Corey this week, so it’s the only day I have to catch up on my other subjects.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“I usually study until five, then hit the gym for an hour, then go home and study some more. It’s quite a jampacked schedule.”

As I say this, even I have to admit that it sounds like a snippet of my acceptance speech after the Guinness Book of World Records awarded me the title of The Most Boring Person for the third consecutive year. Guess Jason was right about me.

“I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. See you around, Katie.”

He gives a slight nod before turning to walk away. It’s weird, but even though I rejected his offer, I’m slightly annoyed that he accepted my answer so easily. I think I’m open to a little persuasion, but he didn’t even try to convince me.

Unfortunately, he’s leaving me with this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. And now I have this insuppressible urge to prove him and Jason and the Guinness Book of World Records wrong.

I call out to him before he’s taken his fourth step. “Hey, Alex.”

He turns to face me but continues walking backward. “Yep.”

“I can be spontaneous.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I mean...I can throw caution to the wind like that guy playing guitar over there and just...not study today. I can disregard my carefully planned schedule and hang out with you all day.”

He stops walking, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinizes me. “You can or you will?”

It’s a challenge, and after a quick breath, I accept. “I will.” I close the gap between us. “And when I say the whole day, I mean just an hour, two max. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Alright. Let’s let the rebel in you run amok for a whole hour and then straight back to the grind. Gotta say, spontaneity has never felt so...planned.”

I know that was a joke, yet still, I can’t detect even a hint of a smirk. I wait, staring at him to see if he’ll crack, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders as if he meant every word.

“So, where shall we start? Guitar shop?”

I glower at him. “Funny. I didn’t know I was in the presence of a comedian.”

“Stick around. I’ve got a whole set lined up.” He gestures down the path with mock seriousness. “Let’s go ruin your perfectly scheduled day.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You really have a way of selling an idea.”

He falls into step beside me. “It’s a gift.”

We walk in silence for a few steps before my curiosity gets the better of me.

“So, where are we going?”

“I thought you wanted to be spontaneous and three seconds in, you’re asking for a plan. Amateur.”

I side-eye him. “You’re lucky. I’m in an uncharacteristically agreeable mood today. Usually, I’d need a spreadsheet of options and a full risk assessment before agreeing to any kind of activity.”

“You’d probably color-code it too.”

“Obviously. What’s the point of a spreadsheet without colors?”

His lips twitch. Almost a smile. Just the tiniest flicker. “You’re something else, Katie.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

He steps in front of me, walking backward with an ease that almost makes me envious. “On whether or not you’re going to overthink it.”

I purse my lips, suppressing a smile. “Touché.”

He faces forward, and we fall into silence again. He’s not the kind of person who talks just to fill the quiet, but oddly enough, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It’s weird, but when he does speak, his words seem carefully chosen and deliberate. It’s intriguing. And, honestly, a little frustrating.

“Alright, mystery man, I have a few questions for you.”

He must have been anticipating that because he doesn’t hesitate. “Shoot.”

“Are you always this cryptic, or is it just with me?”

“I’m not cryptic. You’re just not asking the right questions.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Fine.” I stop walking and turn to face him, planting my hands on my hips. “What’s your favorite color?”

His brows lift slightly, as if the question wasn’t the kind of question he was expecting. “Blue.”

“Favorite place?”

“No favorite.” He nudges me with his elbow, and we start walking down the path again. “Just being out in the open is good enough for me.”

“Interesting. Favorite movie?”

“ No Country for Old Men . It’s my favorite book too, if that’s what you were gonna ask next.”

“It was. Favorite sound?”

“Again, no favorite, but...” He sighs, thinking about it before he answers. “I guess I used to enjoy listening to the sound of rain.”

“Used to? What do you like listening to now?”

“Lately? I’ve been hearing this biochemist ramble about cancer inhibitors. It’s oddly... not terrible.”

He’s not flirting, right? That couldn’t possibly be construed as flirting. It was too blunt, too direct. No softness to his tone. No tenderness in his voice. It was a cold, hard statement. I don’t know what to do with it, so I just continue as normal.

“Favorite food?”

“Anything homemade. Now, enough about me. Tell me more about you.”

“Like what?” I shrug. “I’m pretty boring. There’s not much to me. What do you want to know?”

“Well...what’s your backup plan if this biochemistry thing doesn’t work out?”

“It will work out,” I reply matter-of-factly, “because I work too hard to fail. But if I had to choose a plan B...” I leave the sentence hanging as I think about it. “I’d probably choose the same path as you and go into comedy.”

“Really? You’re funny? You hide it so well behind your rigid, no-nonsense exterior.”

I give him another death glare. “I’m hilarious. Beneath this sensible cardigan...”

“It’s very sensible.”

“...beats the heart of a true jokester.” I keep a straight face to pretend I’m dead serious. “I don’t like to brag, but I’m getting so funny my friends have started calling me comedic...Katie.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of his lips, and somehow, that makes me want to crack up.

“That’s a horrid name,” he says. “And aren’t I the only one who calls you Katie?”

I try to stifle a giggle when he doesn’t buy any of it. “Okay, fine. You got me.” I lift both hands as if I’ve been caught red-handed. “They really call me...Katelyn...the Droll Troll.”

His furrowed brows tell me exactly how dumb and unimpressive my joke is, but that only makes it funnier to me.

The giggle I’m trying to hold back bursts out of me, but I catch it midway and put my serious face back on. “I keep telling them to hold off on the compliments. I’m not even that good yet, you know, still honing...my craft. But they insist. And who am I to argue? People can spot talent when they see it. Besides, I just recently discovered that it’s my destiny.”

A quizzical brow is raised in my direction. “I don’t know you that well, but that claim lacks plausibility.”

“I was skeptical too when I found out a few weeks ago, but after hearing the evidence, I have no doubt it’s true. Do you know what the doctor gave my parents when they left the hospital after I was born?”

He knows I’m talking crap, but I like that he still plays along. “What?”

“A mirth certificate.”

His face drops, his eye twitching as if his sense of humor is having a stroke. This is when the laughter comes rolling out of me, because the look on his face is everything . I double over, holding my sides because they’re starting to hurt.

He stops and turns to face me, staring at me until my laughter finally subsides. “Do you always laugh so hard at your own jokes?”

“Yes. Clearly, no one else is going to, especially not you. You don’t smile at a damn thing.”

“It’s very...”

“Weird?” I fill in when he can’t find the word to complete his sentence.

“No.”

“Goofy?”

“No. It’s...it’s adorable.” He breaks eye contact the second he says it and looks anywhere but at me. “Listen, do you wanna get something to drink?”

For a nanosecond, I was going to entertain the possibility that he might be flirting with me again, but the quick transition to something mundane and impersonal lets me know that I’m just overthinking again.

It’s only awkward for a few seconds, though. He jumps straight back into the conversation, throwing out questions as we walk to the café. He listens intently to every answer as I blabber away. I catch myself going off the rails a few times and quickly reign in the nerdiness before he loses interest.

We stop at Café Al Mada, and I buy myself another iced coffee. He doesn’t get anything, which is weird because he asked if I wanted a drink. We continue our stroll through the campus, and it’s nice to have a slow day for a change. Taking in the surroundings. Breathing in the fresh air. I tend to take these simple pleasures for granted because my head is always buried in a book. This is a break I didn’t even know I needed.

Alex stops and nods his head toward a nearby tree. “What do you say, Rebel? Wanna go butt wild and sit under that tree?”

I try to glower at him again, but a giggle pops out instead. “I’m starting to think that you enjoy yanking my chain.”

“I think you enjoy yanking your own chain far more than I do, Droll Troll .”

He leads me to the tree and finds a shady spot. I sit in front of him, leaving sufficient space to ensure it isn’t awkward for either of us.

“So, what’s your deal?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...why did you ask me to hang out with you? You were out for a walk, and then, out of the blue, you ask me to hang out with you. It’s a little weird.”

“People do that, you know? They can be doing one thing, and then, without warning, decide to do something else. It’s a phenomenon scientists have been studying for centuries. What do they call it again? Oh, yeah. Living life.”

“You’re hilarious,” I say, using the same lifeless expression and tone as him. “Much funnier than me, in fact. You really should give up engineering and go into comedy.”

“Comedy is definitely a better career choice than what I’m doing now,” he agrees with a nod.

“But seriously. Why are we here? You don’t even know me. Why change your plans to just...sit around like this?”

“What if that was my plan all along? What if I went home last night and thought about exactly how I could run into you again?”

I see a glint in his eyes, that hint of danger. I must have the worst survival instincts in the world because instead of fear, I’m surprisingly intrigued. “And why would you want to run into me again?”

He pulls his knees up to his chest and casually rests his arms over them. “I’m gonna leave that up to your imagination.”

That’s an error in judgment on his side because my imagination takes those words and turns them into a plotline of a pre-2005 rom-com. Not the trash they make today where the guy barely pursues the girl. No, I’m talking about the classics. The running-through-the-airport, jumping-over-turnstiles, shoving-past-security just to get to the girl kind of romance.

In my case, it’s probably far less dramatic. He probably just spoke to Corey, who told him when to expect me at the library. But still, that kind of effort shouldn’t go unnoticed, right?

Geez, what’s wrong with me? I don’t even know this guy. A few words shouldn’t be sending me into a tizzy. He didn’t say he likes me or anything remotely like that, so I shouldn’t let my imagination make assumptions so far removed from reality. He’s probably just yanking my chain again like he’s been doing since we bumped into each other.

“What are you thinking about?” His deep voice yanks me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“You play with your chain whenever you’re thinking about something, so what are you thinking about?”

I look down, and he’s right. I’m toying with the locket on my chain. “Wow. I didn’t even know I did that.” And because it would be too embarrassing to answer his question, I deflect by changing the direction of the conversation. “Are you always this observant?”

“Yes.”

“With everyone?”

“Everyone. Everything. Nothing slips by me.”

I raise a skeptical brow. “Really? Prove it.”

Alex leans back against the tree trunk, his dark eyes zoning in on me. “Alright,” he says, accepting the challenge. “There’s a couple by the fountain to my left.”

I glance over to where he’s nodding and see a girl sitting on the edge of the fountain, her legs crossed, laughing at something the guy beside her is saying.

“They’re on their second date,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

I blink, confused. “How do you know that?”

“She’s laughing a little too much at everything he says. That kind of fake enthusiasm? It’s second-date energy. By the third, she’ll start telling him he’s not as funny as he thinks he is.”

“We can’t prove that. Give me something more concrete.”

He shifts his attention. “The guy over there in the red hoodie, sitting on the bench with the book?”

I follow his gaze to a scruffy-looking student flipping through a textbook.

“He’s not studying.”

I frown. “What do you mean? He’s literally reading.”

“He’s not. He hasn’t turned the page in three minutes, and he keeps glancing at his phone every twenty seconds. My guess is he’s waiting for someone.”

I open my mouth to argue but stop when Red Hoodie checks his phone again, looking around with an expectant expression. I glare at Alex. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. So, what about her?” I nod toward a girl sitting under another tree, scribbling furiously in a notebook. “She seems to be studying pretty hard.”

“Nope.” He doesn’t even look in her direction because he already knows who I’m referring to. “She’s writing a song or something.”

“No way. How can you tell?”

“See how she moves her head like she’s got a melody playing. And then her fingers move like she’s playing that melody on a piano. She does that, then goes back to scribbling.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say, but my voice betrays me with a laugh.

“Not ridiculous,” he counters. “Accurate. Watch.” We both look over, and she does exactly that. Plays an imaginary piano for a few seconds before scribbling down the note. “Told you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Alright, Sherlock. What about me?”

He smirks faintly, the closest thing to a real smile I’ve seen from him. “You? You’re easy.”

I scoff. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a planner,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “Meticulous. That’s why you keep looking at your watch, even though you said you’re being spontaneous today. You’re probably already thinking about how to make up the study time you’re losing right now.”

Heat creeps up my neck because he’s right. “That’s kinda cheating because you knew that about me before we even sat down. You gotta give me something of substance if you want me to believe you.”

“You really wanna know?”

Something about the way his tone drops and his eyes darken puts me on edge, and I think twice before I respond. “Yes.”

“You don’t like change. You drink iced coffee every day. It’s cold out today, but you still ordered it twice .”

“I dropped the first one when I bumped into you, remember? That’s why—”

“Doesn’t matter. It still tells me it’s an ingrained habit. The car you drive; it’s sentimental to you, right?”

I’m gobsmacked, stunned into silence for a few seconds. “Uh...yeah. It was my grandad’s. After he died, I couldn’t let it go. It still smells like him, you know.” I draw in a shaky breath because it’s unnerving how he figured that out. “How did you know that?”

“Your watch, your chain, your clothes, even the sneakers you wore to the gym yesterday—those are indicators that you...or your family can afford the finer things in life, so the only reason you’d be driving a car that’s basically a relic is because it’s sentimental to you. Correct?”

I only nod.

He doesn’t skip a beat and continues with his detailed assessment of me. “You’re smart, but somehow, that makes you feel insecure. Someone said something to you, something like...you talk too much or...you only talk about your schoolwork. I don’t know, but it was something like that, and it offended you so much that now you’re very careful about what you say.”

Blinking a few times, I try to recompose. I feel so exposed, and the cold, clinical way he said that reopens the cuts Jason left me with. After a deep breath, I swallow hard and decide to tell him what happened. Judging by how quickly he summed me up, it’s not like he won’t figure it out, anyway. “He said I was boring.”

“Who did?”

The hint of aggression in his voice makes it sound like he wants to hunt down the scoundrel who would dare say something so heinous to me. Either that or it’s my twisted pre-2005 rom-com imagination leading me astray again.

“My ex.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah. He told me that right after I caught him naked with two cheerleaders.” I shrug and pretend as if it doesn’t affect me. “It was brutal, but not devastating. Those are the only scars I have now, and they’ll heal ev—”

“They’re not, though,” he cuts in. “I know a knife wound when I see one, and you’ve got one on your left thumb. How’d you get that?”

“I was nine,” I reply cautiously because this conversation is taking an eerie turn. I was talking about emotional scars, but him bringing up this physical one makes me a bit uneasy. It’s like he’s noticed every little thing about me. “My mom asked me to chop some vegetables for dinner. The knife slipped, and I had to get three stitches here.”

He nods. “The burn on your right forearm?”

“Lab accident. Last year. Bunsen burner.”

“And the back of your neck? Looks like laser removal.”

He leans forward and his hand slowly moves around me to stroke the spot at the base of my neck. My hairs stand on end, goosebumps skittering down my arms. I’m not sure if it’s his closeness or the intensity of his gaze that makes my pulse race manically beneath my skin. His woody cologne pervades the air between us, and I struggle to take in air.

“I...I got drunk at a party once...” The words stumble out of me as I try to re-stabilize. “...and...and got a tattoo of a dancing bear. I regretted it the very next day, and my dad would kill me if he ever saw it.” My throat feels like sandpaper, and I swallow again. “It’s a little creepy that you study everyone with that level of detail.”

“No, those last few were just you.”

I suspect he regrets saying that because he immediately drops his hand and shifts back. His discomfort is so apparent that it stops me from probing further and asking him what exactly he meant by that.

I don’t have time to overthink it because he swiftly nudges the conversation in another direction. “So, what does a girl like you do for fun?”

I latch onto his attempt to lighten the mood and give him a teasing grin. “Honestly, I’ve given you so much information you should have figured it out by now. Maybe your profiling skills aren’t as good as you think.”

“Would you like me to guess?”

Maybe it’s because I’ve already been through one round of scrutiny, but it feels less creepy and more like a challenge to him. I accept it more openly this time because I know what to expect. “Sure. Why not?”

“You like skiing,” he says without hesitation.

“Snowboarding.” My mouth drops in shock. “Oh, my God! How do you know that?”

“When you paid for your iced coffee, I saw a picture of you and your dad in your purse. I caught snow in the background, and you were both wearing ski gear.”

“Wow!” I giggle. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or scared.”

“It’s not that impressive. I only figured out what you like to do in the winter. What about the rest of the year?”

“I like...watching old movies,” I admit sheepishly. “Sundays are my days to unwind, so I like curling up on the couch to watch a movie. It’s boring, I know, but—”

“It’s not. I like old movies, too.”

I shift, rolling onto my stomach. “Really? Which ones in particular?”

“Old Westerns.”

My eyebrows crease. “When I said old, I meant, like...the nineties. Westerns are really old, right? I don’t believe I’ve ever watched one before?”

His response is immediate, almost as if he’d been waiting for the opening. “Are you opposed to trying one out? I’ll come to your place, and we can watch one together.”

Again, it’s more of a demand than a request. When he made a similar demand last night in a darkened parking lot, it freaked me out a little. And I have the same small twinge in my gut right now. The logical side of my brain is telling me not to invite some random stranger over to my house. But the other side of my brain (the side that’s more emotionally charged and chemically imbalanced) sees no threat.

The truth is, after spending some time with him, I’ve learned that if I reject his offer, he’ll accept my answer without question. If I say no, that’s it. It’s done. He won’t ask again. He won’t even try to persuade me, and that is why, against my better judgment, I relent.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun,” I say. “I’ll text you my address. Come by on Sunday at around two.”

He nods. “Two o’clock. I’ll be there.”

“So, any recommendations? Any favorites?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “ Unforgiven . It’s a Clint Eastwood movie. My mom loved Clint Eastwood, and that was her all-time favorite movie.”

The affection in his voice makes me smile. Based on his usual tone, it wasn’t something I was expecting. “So, your mom is the reason you have an acquired taste for old Westerns?”

“Yeah. Sundays were our movie days, too. It was the only day she got home before five. She’d be exhausted, but she’d tell me that she always had enough time in a day for the two men in her life. Me and Clint Eastwood.”

The affection slowly turns to sadness, and it makes me a little sad, too. “What happened to your dad?”

“He left when I was about five. Just fucked off. It was for the better, though. He used to slap us around a lot.” His jaw clenches, but that’s the only sign of emotion I see. “My mom raised me on her own. Worked two jobs, barely slept. She used to say that hard work would reap benefits, that being tired was a privilege because it meant she was doing something right.” He shrugs, looking down at the ground as he picks at the blades of grass. “But in the end, all that hard work was for nothing. No benefits were reaped. No privileges were afforded to her. She died alone in that hospital bed, and the only man in her life couldn’t do a damn thing to save her.”

My chest tightens at the vulnerability in his words, and his guarded expression has cracked just enough to let me see the person behind the mask. “I’m sorry.”

I reach out to touch his hand, but he yanks it away as if I’ve burned him. He stares at me, bewildered and unsure of what to do next.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I said that.”

He seems very upset about this, and I try to reassure him. “It’s okay. We were both just talking, sharing things that—”

“No, I don’t share personal information.” He stands up. “Fuck, I can’t believe I told you all that.” He rubs a hand across his jaw, and in my opinion, the panic on his face is more than the situation warrants. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

The question is aimed at himself, but I still answer. “Alex, it’s really okay.”

“No, it’s not. Those are things no one should ever know about me.” He pauses for a moment. The warmth and affection I saw in his eyes just a few seconds ago has vanished and is replaced by that detached, unreadable look. “Listen, I’ve taken up more than an hour of your time. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your books. I’m gonna go.” He turns, takes two steps, then turns back to face me again. “I’ll come by on Sunday. Two o’clock.”

I’m too stunned by the sudden outburst to reply, so I simply nod. And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me under the tree with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach and more questions than answers.