Monica lay sprawled across her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the quiet of the evening wrapped around her. The day had been long, but not in the stressful kind of way—just ordinary, uneventful. Her phone buzzed once on her desk, but she ignored it, choosing instead to let her mind wander.
That's when it hit her.
A memory—warm and almost fuzzy—came rushing back like a wave. It was from the year before, when she and Lynx were still in the same class. Everyone in their batch had been called to attend a full-day meeting or briefing or... something. Monica couldn't even remember what it was about anymore. But she remembered one detail very clearly—the food.
They had been given a simple lunch: a soft bun and a boxed drink. Nothing fancy, just enough to keep them going through the long hours. What bothered her, though, was the drink.
She hadn't been given a choice, and out of all the options, she had ended up with chrysanthemum tea. Flower-based drinks were never her thing. She took one tiny sip and immediately frowned. Nope. Definitely not drinking this.
Scanning the room for someone she trusted, her eyes landed on Lynx—leaning against a wall nearby, as expressionless and unbothered as ever. She walked over, holding the box drink in her hand.
"Hey," she said.
He looked at her with his usual sleepy gaze. "Yeah?"
"You want this?" she asked, holding out the nearly untouched drink. "It's chrysanthemum. I don't like it."
Lynx nodded once. "Okay."
That was it. No fuss. He took the box, straw still in place, and casually began drinking it as if it was no big deal.
But to Monica?
It was a huge deal.
She didn't realize it at first. But about ten minutes later, as she sat back down and glanced at him sipping from the same straw she had used—her entire body went stiff.
Wait. Wait a second.
Did we just... indirectly kiss?
Her heart raced as the thought sank in. It was the closest thing she had ever experienced to a kiss at that point—and it sent her mind into full overdrive. She remembered clenching her notebook to her chest later that day, cheeks burning, eyes wide, completely overwhelmed.
She had gone straight to Nana about it, grabbing her by the arm with a look of pure shock and excitement.
"Nana," she whispered. "I think I just had my first kiss... kind of. An indirect one."
"What?" Nana blinked, confused.
"I shared a drink with Lynx. Same straw. He finished my chrysanthemum tea." Her voice got quieter. "We shared a straw. That's basically a kiss, right?"
Nana had burst into laughter, but Monica wasn't joking. Her heart was pounding. She even wrote about it in her journal that night—complete with a doodle of a drink box and an arrow pointing at the straw that said: "THE straw."
"Once-in-a-lifetime accident," she had written. "But it made me too happy. Help."
Back in the present, Monica chuckled softly to herself, face half-buried in her pillow.
Lynx, of course, hadn't thought twice about it. He had just sipped the drink like it was any other day. She wondered now, lying there in her room, if he even remembered that moment. Probably not. He was too dense to realize the chaos he had caused in her heart that day.
Still, it was a memory she treasured—something sweet, innocent, and uniquely theirs.
A sip that make her day.