Twelve Years Later....
This was it. The moment I had been waiting for.
I stood in the grand hallway of Haverford Science College, my acceptance letter still folded in my pocket, my heart pounding with excitement and nerves. This was where my father had studied all those years ago. A part of me felt like I was stepping into his world, walking the same halls he once did. Another part of me worried—would I be able to fit in? Would I make friends? Would this place be any different from my old high school, where I spent most of my days as an outsider?
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as I scanned the board on the wall. C1… Where's C1? I murmured under my breath, my eyes darting through the list.
"Please don't be like my old high school."
The words slipped out in a whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
"Don't be like what?"
The sudden voice startled me so much that I almost dropped my bag. Spinning around, I found myself face-to-face with a girl—a blonde-haired girl with striking blue eyes, like a husky's, staring right at me with a look of pure surprise.
She was tall, almost my height, with a lean frame and fair skin. Her white t-shirt clung to her, and for a brief moment, I took in the sharp angles of her face and the way her eyebrows arched slightly in curiosity. But my attention quickly shifted when I saw the horror flash across her expression.
"Oh, shit!" she suddenly yelled.
Before I could react, she looked down at herself. A dark stain spread across her white shirt, the unmistakable scent of coffee wafting through the air. I followed her gaze downward and saw the cup on the ground between us, a puddle of brown liquid seeping into the floor.
Realization struck.
I had bumped into her. The coffee—her coffee—had spilled all over her.
"I'm so sorry!" I blurted out. "I didn't mean to— You surprised me, and I—"
She shot me a sharp glare, placing a hand on her hip. "It's okay. I was the one who surprised you," she said, though her tone made it clear she was anything but okay.
She tried to wipe some of the coffee off her shirt, but the dark stain only spread further. Frustration flickered across her face as she sighed loudly.
Guilt twisted in my stomach. "Let me help you. It's my fault."
She eyed me for a long moment, then sighed again. "Yeah, you should," she muttered, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along.
I barely had time to react before she started walking—no, marching—down the hall, weaving through the students like she had somewhere to be. And apparently, I was coming along whether I liked it or not.
"Where are we going?" I asked, struggling to keep up with her pace.
"A laundry shop nearby," she said without looking back. "You're gonna help me fix this."
I didn't argue.
After a few minutes of navigating through the bustling campus, she finally pulled me toward a small laundromat tucked between two buildings. A little bell jingled as we entered. The place was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of washing machines. Behind the counter, an elderly woman sat, knitting something with delicate hands. She looked up and smiled when she saw us.
"Miss, can you do something about this stain?" the girl asked breathlessly, still gripping my wrist.
The old woman chuckled. "Of course, dear. Just change and hand it over."
The blonde girl disappeared into the dressing room. Moments later, her voice called out hesitantly.
"Hey… Mr. Coffee Spiller."
I sighed, stepping closer to the door, where I could see a sliver of her bare shoulder peeking out.
"Yeah?"
"Can you give this to the old lady?" she asked, holding out her stained shirt through the gap in the door. "I didn't bring extra clothes, so I'll have to stay inside until it's dry."
Her voice wavered slightly, and I noticed the faint pink flush on her skin. She was embarrassed.
I quickly took the shirt from her hands and handed it over. The old woman gave me a knowing smile as she took it. "Give me a few minutes," she said before disappearing into the back.
I leaned against the wall outside the dressing room, waiting. The silence stretched between us.
"So… what's your name?" I asked after a moment.
Before she could answer, a sharp gasp came from inside. Then—
"Nooo!"
A loud crash followed.
"What happened?" I asked, alarmed.
I barely had time to react before the door swung open with force—right into my face. Pain exploded across my forehead as I stumbled back. And then—something, someone—toppled over me.
I hit the floor, hard. The weight on top of me was warm, soft, and—
My breath hitched.
She was on top of me.
The golden strands of her hair shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the window, her face inches from mine. Her bare skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, her breath coming out in shaky, uneven gasps. I could feel everything—her racing heartbeat, the way she trembled, the warmth of her skin pressing against mine.
Her arms tightened around my shoulders, pulling me closer in a desperate attempt to cover herself. Her lips were so close to my ear that when she spoke, I felt her breath ghost against my skin.
"Did you see it?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with something between panic and embarrassment.
I swallowed hard, my brain scrambling for a response. "N-No. I didn't see anything."
A beat of silence. Then another.
I didn't dare move.
Slowly, I shifted, pushing her back into the dressing room and quickly turning my back to the door.
The old woman's voice broke the awkward silence.
"What was that noise?" she asked, stepping back into the shop.
I spun around too quickly. "Uh—just the window!" I blurted out. "It slammed shut because of the wind."
As soon as I said it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. There was no wind. It was a perfectly calm, sunny day.
The old woman stared at me for a long second before smirking. With a knowing glint in her eye, she handed me the freshly dried t-shirt.
"It's okay," she whispered with a wink. "Youths today."
I groaned internally, taking the shirt from her. Carefully, I knocked on the dressing room door.
"It's dry," I said, keeping my voice low.
A slender arm shot out, snatching the shirt before the door shut again.
I exhaled, running a hand down my face.
"I'm… sorry," I mumbled, not even sure why I was apologizing. Maybe for the coffee. Maybe for the whole ridiculous situation. Maybe for seeing—or almost seeing—something I wasn't supposed to.
There was no reply from inside.
With a sigh, I leaned against the wall and waited.
This was not how I expected my first day to go.
"So, you saw everything," she said, her voice wavering, a mix of anger and sorrow threading through her words. Her eyes, though sharp, held a weight of vulnerability that made my chest tighten.
I stood frozen for a moment, unsure of how to ease the tension thickening between us. "I should go," I murmured, feeling the weight of the situation settle like a stone in my stomach. "I'll take care of the bill. You can come out once I've gone," I added softly, as if trying to give her the space she needed without pushing her away.
I turned, my steps heavy, as I made my way toward the door. But deep down, a part of me longed for something more—for a connection, for the kind of company that her presence promised, even if just for a moment. I couldn't help but think, How different it would have been if our meeting hadn't been laced with this tension, with all the unspoken things hanging between us?