5 years ago

I strode onto the compound, the grass beneath my feet crumpling as I crossed the lawn. The grey slip-ons flitted quickly, picking up pace especially with the sound of the bell resonating through the campus. I clutched the books to my chest as I broke into a run, letting all my efforts to straighten my hair earlier that morning go to waste. Just great. The first class of the day and I just had to be tardy.

In my defense, I couldn’t foresee the lift breaking down just as anyone else couldn’t foresee the answers to the near impossible History quizzes Mrs Hays sets. And so, being the only one living off campus (a prerequisite by my folks in an attempt to get me away from the ‘alcoholic college culture’), I had to travel a rough 20 minutes to get to school. On most days, I would arrive on campus just as everyone else did, and still be able to optimize on my sleep. I should’ve suspected that the lift would fail me one day, but I had instead decided to place faith in the 30 year old building and its utilities. But that day came eventually, and that day just had to be today; the only day of the week where I had Calculus at 8am.

The hallways were clearing out, the last few students pulling the doors close behind them. At the end of the corridor, I could still see some familiar faces pouring into the class. Breathing a sigh of relief, I took larger strides. Finally entering the room, I immediately sat in the seat near the back that had come to be claimed mine through the months. I tapped my pen against the table to the muffled beat of the chirping birds outside the windows. A warm trail of sweat made its way down the side of my face, and I slowly felt the heat engulf my body from the unplanned morning run. Just great. What a ty way to start the day.

When the equations and integers and sums were replaced with a clean blackboard, I dragged my body out the room and began making my way to the cafeteria. Two hours of Calculus was not my cup of tea (any amount of math was not exactly pleasant, for that matter) and I desperately needed some food and caffeine to get me through the rest of the day. I was sluggish, like a vampire starved of blood and company for centuries. And like a vampire, I let my nose lead the way, sniffing out the wafting aroma of baked foods in the cafeteria and channeling my legs in that direction.

Feeling a buzz against the surface of my jeans, I reached down, fingers curling to retrieve the phone from its pocket. I looked down at the text, smiling at the name of the sender. I swiped my thumb across the screen, eyes scanning the message that popped up on the monitor.

From: Sandra

hey babe! heard there’s gonna be a party later at delta iota kappa. i’ll be at your place at 9 to pi—

I fell backwards, my feet suddenly morphing into Ren McCormack’s as I took quick steps back to regain my stability. My books crashed to the floor along with the pieces of notes that scattered away, laying itself on the marble like how it did during the summers when I tossed them onto my bedroom floor. Even my phone joined them on the ground, still spinning on the grey marble from the impact. “, that hurt,” I murmured as I rubbed at my chest. Hearing a gasp, I raised my head to identify the idiot that had the nerve to bump into me. My eyes trailed upwards, taking in the ripped jeans, the pristine white shirt with the brown splotch—

Oh, crap.

“Man, I should’ve known this one wouldn’t last the day.”

I continued my journey up to his head, and when my gaze finally fell on his face, I felt like a total disgrace to the female population.

This dude was so pretty, it hurt.

I snatched my hanging jaw back up to its rightful place, and gulped, suddenly feeling as if my throat was the Sahara desert in August.

“Oh my god. Sorry, I- . I ruined your shirt. Hold on, let me help you.” I blurted, my words suddenly tripping over each other in the presence of the pretty man.

(Never did I see the day come where a man would come off as pretty to me).

He held the now-empty cup of coffee in his right hand, his left pinching the material of his shirt to get the soaked cloth off his chest. I dropped to the floor, quickly gathering up the notes that littered the area. As my hands reached out to the essay that lay near the foot of the pillar, a shadow cast over the paper, blocking out the sunlight. He knelt down before me, his hands too scurrying around the floor, picking up the books that I had yet to collect. He handed them to me, and that was when I got a good look at his hands.

So, the boy was pretty and had nice fingers? God truly was unfair.

I stuffed whatever I had into my bag first, before accepting the stack of books that he held out. Then suddenly, I rocked forward on my heels, the breeze precipitously setting me off my balance. The hand that reached out was thrown forward even further than I had intended, and my fingers met his. The pads of my fingers brushed against the skin of his (pretty) hand, and that was when I quickly retracted.

Because in that millisecond when our skins touched, I felt the spark of electricity pass through his hand and into mine. The current bolted through every blood cell, darting through the walls of my veins and struck at my heart.

I thought the electric would hurt, but all it did was leave a warmth settling in my chest and plant unclear dubiety in my mind.

“Um, would you mind taking these because I think I’m starting to smell of latte.”

I snapped out of my thoughts and took the books from his hand, careful not to come into contact with his anything again. He stood back up, the material of his shirt still pinched between his thumb and forefinger. I followed suit, adjusting the straps of my bag on my shoulder.

“Well, I need to get going now. See you around,” He saluted before walking past me, presumably to get to the washroom to get the stain out, or maybe to his dorm room to get changed. I turned, watching as his figure made its way through the crowd before disappearing completely in the sea of people. What the hell was that, I thought as I tilted m