12. Chapter Twelve
Sophie already sits at our usual corner table when I walk into the cafeteria. The midday rush fills the space with the cheerful clatter of trays and the comforting scents of tomato soup and fresh bread. The whole room feels alive, the comfortable chaos I have grown used to sharing with her.
She waves as soon as she sees me, two trays already arranged in front of her. One holds my favorite mild chai latte and a simple salad with some soup on the side exactly the way I like it. The easy thoughtfulness makes me smile as I slide into the seat across from her.
“How were the archives this morning?” she asks, pushing my tray closer. Her green eyes sparkle with genuine interest.
I settle in and wrap my hands around the warm cup. “Peaceful. Jules gave me another small collection to pin, and I lost track of time again. I barely made it to that shared biology lecture yesterday and today I almost forgot to eat. I’m going to need to start setting alarms for myself.”
Sophie laughs, the sound light and easy between us. “You and those drawers. One day they are going to adopt you.”
She tells me about her sociology seminar on community structures while I steal a sip of the chai, the gentle spice warming me from the inside.
This is exactly what I needed today. Just lunch with Sophie and the cozy comfort of our friendship. No alphas or unexpected scents… just the two of us and the simple pleasure of being understood.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The soup is perfectly seasoned, and I find myself relaxing into the usual routine of lunch together. But the question that has been sitting in the back of my mind refuses to stay silent any longer.
I set my spoon down and glance around to make sure no one is paying attention to our corner of the cafeteria. “Sophie,” I say quietly, “can I ask you something kind of embarrassing?”
Her green eyes lift to mine immediately, full of open curiosity. “Of course. Always.”
I hesitate for only a second before pushing forward.
“The scent blockers I’ve been using… they don’t feel strong enough anymore.
I keep having these little reactions I can’t control, and it’s getting harder to focus.
Do you know of anything stronger? Something more reliable for class or when I’m working in the archives? ”
Sophie nods without any judgment, her expression turning thoughtful and practical.
She leans in a little closer, keeping her voice low and conspiratorial the way only best friends can.
“I have been there. The standard ones are fine when nothing is really testing you, but once you start running into so many scents they can feel almost useless. I switched to the clinical-grade patches a few weeks ago. They are a little more expensive but they last longer and actually block the stronger pulls.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small blue packet, sliding it across the table to me. “These are the ones I use now. The pharmacy in town carries them. I can go with you this weekend if you want. We can make a little trip out of it.”
Relief moves through me at how easy and supportive she makes it sound. There’s no teasing in her voice, only understanding. “Thank you,” I say, tucking the packet into my cardigan pocket. “I just… I need to be able to focus. The reactions are getting distracting.”
Sophie gives me a knowing smile and steals one of my cherry tomatoes. “The universe does seem to be testing you lately, doesn’t it? First Jamie with the rose, then that grumpy alpha in the woods. It’s like they are all lining up just to challenge your focus.”
I let out a small laugh, even as heat rises in my cheeks. Her words are light, but they hit closer to the truth than I want to admit. Especially after yesterday’s lecture and the studious alpha with the rainy scent who has refused to leave my thoughts.
We are still talking about the clinical-grade blockers when movement a few tables away catches my attention.
A small group has gathered near the windows.
A young omega, probably a freshman like me, sits in the center with three alphas surrounding her.
They look like an established pack, assured in the way they take up space.
One of the alphas leans down and runs his nose along the side of her neck in a very public scent marking. The gesture is possessive, almost territorial. The other two alphas stand close on either side, their bodies angled toward her in clear protection.
The omega’s cheeks are flushed red. She keeps glancing around the cafeteria with wide eyes, looking more flustered and overwhelmed than pleased. Her shoulders stay slightly hunched, as though she is trying to make herself smaller under their attention.
Something uncomfortable twists in my stomach as I watch.
This is exactly what I have always pictured when I think about pack life.
The loss of personal space. The public claim.
The way an omega can so quickly become the center of intense focus whether she wants it or not.
It looks suffocating. This girl does not seem cherished at this moment. She seems claimed.
A fresh wave of certainty moves through me.
This is why I don’t want a pack. This is why I turned Jamie down so pointedly and why I’m asking Sophie for stronger scent blockers.
I want to move through my days without feeling like my choices, my space, or my focus could be overshadowed by someone else’s instincts.
Sophie must notice the shift in my expression because she turns slightly to follow my gaze. Her voice is hushed when she speaks again. “They are probably newly matched,” she says gently.
I stay silent, still watching the scene, my appetite suddenly diminished.
“That kind of public marking is a common early pack instinct. The alphas are reinforcing the scent match to deter anyone else from approaching her. It can look intense from the outside, but for most omegas it eventually feels comforting once they are ready. Like the pack is saying she is safe and claimed in the best way.”
I listen intently. Her words make logical sense, the way everything Sophie explains about pack dynamics always does. She speaks from expertise and kindness, never pressure. Part of me understands that what I am seeing might one day feel protective and heartwarming to the girl at that table.
Yet it still lands like a weight in my chest. The way the alphas hover, the public claim, the way the omega seems small beneath their attention. It feels suffocating. Like her space, her choices, her very presence could be swallowed up before she ever had time to decide what she wanted.
I nod, offering Sophie a small smile so she knows I heard her. “I get it. Logically, I do. It just… it doesn’t feel like something I could ever want.”
Sophie reaches across the table and gives my hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “And that’s OK. You don’t have to want it. Not everyone does.”
We finish our lunch and try to change the subject, talking about lighter things, her next sociology paper and my latest pinning project.
When we stand and clear our trays, the cafeteria noise rises around us again.
I walk beside her toward the exit, the faint traces of amber vanilla and crisp bergamot still lingering in the back of my mind no matter how hard I try to push them away.
I don’t want a pack. I want my studies, I want my unwavering focus.
And much further down the line, when everything is established and my degree is secure, perhaps I will find a nice, steady beta boyfriend.
Someone calm and uncomplicated who would never expect me to fit into a group dynamic or lose myself in someone else’s instincts.
That thought feels solid. Safe.
I hold on to it as we step out into the cool afternoon air, the faint scent of that cute alpha still following me like a stubborn shadow.
After saying goodbye to Sophie outside the cafeteria, I decide not to head straight back to the archives or the dorm. The afternoon air feels too perfect to waste it indoors.
Warm sunlight filters through the changing leaves and carries the faint sweetness of early fall, so I turn toward one of the large open green areas instead.
The grass stretches wide and inviting under an old oak tree whose branches spread like welcoming arms. Dappled shade falls across the ground in pretty patterns, cool and gentle against the lingering heat of the day.
I walk straight to it and lower myself to the ground, back settling against the rough trunk. My legs stretch out in front of me and my notebook rests open on my lap. The breeze brushes across my skin, light and playful, carrying the crisp scent of turning leaves and distant woodsmoke.
I close my eyes for a moment and simply breathe. The pressure that has been building inside me these past few days feels a little farther away here. No lecture halls or unexpected scents drifting on air vents. Just sunlight, grass, and the rhythm of my own thoughts.
This is what I needed. A small pocket of peace where I can simply be.
I let my gaze drift across the wide green.
Students move in loose groups, laughter rising on the breeze as they share blankets and conversations.
A couple walks leisurely along the path, hands brushing but never quite linking.
Someone else sits alone under another tree, earbuds in, completely absorbed in a book.
The scene feels peaceful in its ordinary way, full of small, self-contained lives.
My thoughts wander back to the past few days without permission. The rose still sits on my desk at home, its petals opening a little more each morning. Jamie’s easy acceptance of my refusal lingers with it, gentle and undemanding.
Then there is Chase, all bulk and grumpy protectiveness in the woods, his pine forest scent still vivid in my memory. And yesterday in the lecture hall, the quiet boy with the wire-rimmed glasses whose fresh rain in the library presence has refused to fade from my thoughts.
I shake my head slightly and look down at my notebook instead, my hormones are really crazy at the moment.
The blank page waits, patient as always.
My pen moves across it before I can overthink, letting the words come in spotty fragments the way they always do when the world feels too loud inside me.
leaves turn without asking permission
I sit beneath them
and choose my own quiet
The lines feel small but honest. They capture the independence I keep reaching for, the constant resolve that keeps me grounded even when scents and alphas try to pull me off course. I add another line beneath it, the pen gliding easily now.
one stubborn heart
leaning against bark
learning how to stay whole
I pause and read them back, a small sense of calm burrowing deeper in my chest. This is why I came here. For moments like this one, simple and mine alone. To be with my words and the muted late September light filtering through the leaves.
A squishy weight brushes against my ankle, warm and fuzzy. I glance down just as Noodle winds around my legs with that confident little swagger she always has.
Her gray tabby stripes catch the dappled sunlight, and her white paws look almost luminous against the grass. She bumps her head against my knee once, twice, then decides the drifting leaves are far more interesting.
She pounces on one with pure delight, batting it into the air and tumbling after it in a playful roll. The leaf flutters just out of reach, and Noodle leaps again, tail high and ears pricked forward.
Another leaf spirals down and she chases it in a wide circle, her body low and wiggling with excitement. The uncomplicated joy of her game pulls a genuine smile from me, starting in my chest and spreading across my face before I can stop it.
I set my pen down and watch her, chin resting on my knee.
The breeze stirs more leaves across the grass, and Noodle treats each one like a personal treasure, pouncing and rolling until her fur is dusted with bits of gold and copper.
She looks so completely herself, so unconcerned with anything beyond this moment and these leaves.
My heart feels lighter just watching her.
Here, under the tree with Noodle playing at my feet, everything else fades.
The pressure from the lecture hall, the rose on my desk, the scents that keep trying to pull me in.
None of it matters right now. There is only sunlight, falling leaves, and a small gray cat who chose me without asking for anything in return.
Noodle finally tires of her game and curls against my side, purring. Her small body presses into the curve of my hip as if she belongs there. I rest one hand lightly on her back and feel the joyful vibration of her contentment.
The breeze stirs again, sending another leaf dancing past us, but she only twitches an ear and stays put.
I turn back to my notebook and let the words finish themselves.
leaves fall without apology
I sit beneath them
choosing my own quiet
one heart
one path
entirely mine
The poem feels right… simple, honest. It captures exactly what I have been reaching for these past weeks. Independence, focus, and a life that belongs only to me.
I close the notebook and lean my head back against the trunk.
Sunlight filters through the branches in golden patches across my lap.
Noodle’s purr vibrates against me, steady and sure.
The campus moves on around us, full of laughter and footsteps and distant conversations, but none of it touches this small circle of shade.
This is enough.
This is more than enough.
I breathe in the cool autumn air and let the certainty settle deep in my bones. Whatever scents or alphas try to pull at me, I will keep choosing this. Every single time.