*Chapter One*
The shrill ring of my alarm jolted me out of sleep, echoing through the stillness like a siren in a cave. I groaned, face buried in my pillow, and smacked the screen of my phone until the noise died. For a second, I debated going back to sleep—but I knew better. Nursing school didn't care about my fatigue.
I rolled out of bed slowly, blinking against the pale light filtering through the curtain. My room—my new room—was quiet and still, exactly the way I liked it. It wasn't much, just a small self-contained hostel space, but it was mine. Sparse and functional. A low bed, a tiny reading desk with a rickety chair, a single shelf mounted crookedly on the wall. My clothes lived half in my small closet and half in a folded pile on the floor. I'd added a mat by the bed and a small mirror behind the door, but that was as far as I'd gone with decorating. No plants. No string lights. Nothing pink or frilly. Just space to breathe.
I had only moved in two weeks ago. The previous room I stayed in had been a shared space, which—on paper—sounded manageable. Until it wasn't. My roommate was messy, loud, and couldn't respect silence if her life depended on it. She constantly brought people over, borrowed things without asking, and always had her speaker on full blast playing music I hated. I lasted one month before packing my bags and swearing never to share a room again.
This place? It was peace.
I slipped into the bathroom, brushing my teeth with one hand while scrolling through my phone in the other. Just as I leaned against the sink, a message popped up from Victor.
*Victor:* *"You up, Grandma?"*
I snorted.
*Me:* *"I am now, thanks to your harassment."*
*Victor:* *"Wow. Someone's cranky."*
*Me:* *"It's 6:45. I'm allowed to be cranky."*
*Victor:* *"Sure, sure. You coming over later?"*
*Me:* *"Yeah, might as well. Nothing else to do with my thrilling existence."*
*Victor:* *"The enthusiasm. So loud."*
His banter always made the morning feel lighter. Victor and I had met a few weeks after I started school through a long chain of acquaintances that eventually led to a friendship that stuck. He was easy to talk to, sarcastic in the best way, and always gave off that "older brother who minds his business until he doesn't" energy.
By the time I was dressed, the day had already taken on its typical grayness—routine, unremarkable, and quietly exhausting. I packed my books, tied my braids back, and stepped out into the world.
Classes were classes. Chemistry in the morning, a practical lab after that, and a long, sleepy pharmacology lecture that made me question every life choice that led me here. The air in the lecture hall was hot and stale, and no matter how I shifted in my seat, I couldn't get comfortable.
I didn't talk to many people during class. I had a few acquaintances I exchanged notes with and the occasional small talk, but I mostly kept to myself. It wasn't loneliness—it was preference. Quiet made room for clarity. And honestly, life had already been noisy enough.
After class ended and I packed up my things, I took the long route back toward the main gate. I was halfway down the shaded path when I heard someone call my name.
"Catherine!"
I turned—and there he was.
Victor, in his usual slightly rumpled T-shirt, phone in hand, looking like he hadn't slept properly in two days.
"Well look who it is," he said with a grin. "You're actually leaving school during daylight hours?"
"I know," I replied, brushing imaginary dust off my jeans. "Miracles still happen."
We started walking together toward the bus park, side by side in that easy rhythm we always fell into. The sun was slipping lower in the sky, streaking the pavement with soft orange light.
"Oh," he said suddenly, "forgot to mention—John said a few guys from his department might come by tonight."
I looked over at him. "You just remembered to tell me now?"
Victor grinned. "What? You don't trust me anymore?"
"I trust you to forget key details. Which, congratulations—you've done again."
"They're cool," he shrugged. "Just chill guys. No drama."
"Cool guys are always the loudest ones."
He laughed. "That's why I told you. So you can mentally prepare."
I gave him a sideways look. "I'll just find a quiet corner and pretend I'm invisible. You won't even know I'm there."
Victor smirked. "You say that like you don't already do it."
"I'm consistent," I said proudly.
We walked in silence for a moment, passing other students heading home, some chatting, others half-asleep as they trudged along. The sun was softer now, golden at the edges, and for a second, it felt like the day had finally decided to be kind.
"You good though?" Victor asked suddenly. He always did that—waited until the moment felt light before sliding in something serious.
"Yeah," I said. Then, because he deserved honesty, I added, "Just tired. Everything's… the same."
He nodded. "I get it."
"I think I'm just waiting for something to change. Something real."
Victor didn't say anything, but he gave me a look I couldn't read, like he was on the edge of saying something but changed his mind. Instead, he bumped my shoulder lightly with his.
"You coming over is change enough for now."
"Wow," I said with mock admiration. "So sentimental. I could cry."
"Please don't," he said dryly. "I'm emotionally unavailable before 6 p.m."
We both laughed.
Eventually, the bus came, and we squeezed in with a few other students, settling into the faint hum of the engine and the distant chatter. The ride wasn't long, but it was quiet, and in that silence, I found myself wondering—not for the first time—if this was all my life was going to be for a while. A cycle of classes, tired conversations, and nights spent hovering on the edge of someone else's social circle.
I didn't know yet that things were about to shift.
That soon, someone would walk into the calm I had worked so hard to build… and pull everything apart.
---
*chapter 2*
Victor's room was dimly lit, a single yellow bulb casting a lazy glow over the half-cluttered space. We'd just finished dinner—if you could call overcooked pasta and sardine stew dinner. Still, it filled the silence. We were slouched across the room—me on the bed, John on the floor still playing FIFA, and Victor fiddling with his phone when there was a soft knock on the door.
Victor looked up. "That's probably Matthew."
I sat up straighter. "Matthew?"
He gave me a shrug. "Yeah. I told you a couple of my guys might pull up."
"No," I said slowly, wiping my hands on a napkin. "You said *friends.* You didn't name-drop anyone."
Victor's lips twitched, almost guilty. "Well, surprise."
Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and in stepped someone I hadn't met before—but instantly noticed.
He was tall, easily a head taller than Victor. Dark-skinned, lean but broad-shouldered, with this low, easy confidence in the way he moved. His scent—a mix of soap and something smoky—reached the room before he said a word. And when he did speak, it was with a voice deeper than I expected.
"Evening," he said.
Victor stood. "Matt, this is Catherine. Catherine, Matthew."
He looked at me fully then—curious, steady. "Nice to meet you," he said with a half-smile, the kind that made it hard not to look back.
"You too," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.
He sat at the edge of the bed opposite me, nodding at John. Small talk started—football, lecturers, the usual. I didn't say much. I was too aware of him. Of how his eyes skimmed past me when someone else was talking, how he lit a cigarette near the window without asking, how he held it between his fingers like it was second nature.
I caught Victor watching me once or twice but he said nothing. Just raised his brows like, *what?*
After a while, Matthew asked, "So... Victor, she your girl?"
Victor snorted. "Who? Catherine? Nah. She's just always here."
That's just victor's way of saying he can't live without me
Matthew turned to me with a small grin. "Good to know."
I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile.
Later, as John went back to his game and Victor stepped out to answer a call, Matthew leaned closer.
"You always this quiet?"
"Only when I'm in a room full of strangers," I said.
He chuckled. "So I'll have to earn the full version of you?"
"Something like that."
We talked a little more. Light stuff—school stress, hostel gist, mutual complaints about power supply. Nothing serious, but easy. Too easy.
Then, before leaving, he asked quietly, "Mind if I get your number?"
I hesitated—but only for a second. "Sure."
He handed me his phone and I typed it in. When he left not long after, he gave me a small nod. No long goodbyes. No drama. Just an unspoken something hanging in the air.
Victor came back into the room moments later, eyebrows raised. "You two got chatty."
I didn't say anything. I just looked down at my phone.
No message yet.
But I had a feeling he'd text.
Eventually.
---
By the time I got back to my hostel, it was close to 10. The corridor lights flickered as usual, and my footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway as I unlocked the door to my self-con. The room was still, a little too quiet, with only the ticking of the wall clock and the soft hum of the fan breaking the silence.
I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed onto the bed—my tiny bed, squeezed between a plastic drawer and a standing mirror. The room was simple: a table I rarely read at, a stack of nursing textbooks gathering dust, two mugs, and a wardrobe I kept forgetting to fix. Sparse. Lived-in. Mine.
I was still thinking about him.
Matthew.
The way he looked at me without blinking too much. Calm, unbothered. His presence wasn't loud, but it lingered—like smoke that stayed long after the match was gone. I told myself I was overthinking it. Maybe it was just the cigarette. Maybe I just hadn't flirted in a while. Or maybe I was losing my mind.
Still... no text.
I sighed, pulled off my top, and wrapped my towel around my chest. As I was brushing my teeth, my phone buzzed on the bed.
I wiped my mouth and grabbed it.
*Matthew.*
*"Hey."*
Just that. Two letters. And suddenly I was smiling at my own reflection.
I didn't reply immediately. I made myself rinse my mouth, fix my pillow, fold the clothes I had dumped on the chair. Then I climbed under my blanket, grabbed my phone again, and typed:
*"Hi."*
A second later, his reply came.
*"How are you doing? Sorry I went ghost on you. Been really busy and... I honestly didn't know what to say."*
I stared at it for a second. Then, without thinking too hard, I responded.
*"Same here. Life's been a lot lately."*
And just like that, we kept texting. Back and forth. Soft things. Light things. Nothing heavy. He made a comment about how he thought I seemed 'different'—in a good way. I told him he was dramatic. He said he liked that I didn't try too hard. I said he talked like he'd known me longer than one evening. We laughed about Victor's horrible attempt at making sauce.
Then came the unexpected.
*"Would you want to go out sometime? Just you and me?"*
I squealed. Out loud. No one was around to hear it, but I still stuffed my face into my pillow like I could hide from myself.
Still, I played it cool.
*"Sure. Let me know when, I'll check my schedule."*
His reply was fast.
*"Alright then. Stay beautiful, sweetheart."*
Sweetheart.
I wasn't expecting that.
It wasn't long after that the texts slowed and stopped. We both needed sleep. I plugged in my phone, turned off the light, and let the fan buzz me to sleep. But my mind wasn't quiet.
I kept replaying the moment he walked into the room. The way his eyes found mine. How everything had felt like it shifted, just a little.
I didn't want to read into it.
But I already was.