Eliana Rivers had just wrapped up the listing of three secondhand bags on her thrift page when her phone buzzed on the table beside her. She barely glanced at it—probably another customer asking for a discount she couldn't afford to give. But the name on the screen made her pause.
'Unknown Number.'
She unlocked it with caution, then blinked.
"Hi. It's Mae. Don't freak out."
Her lips parted in surprise. She hadn't given him her number. She was sure of that.
"How did you get my number?"
"Asked someone from your department. Had to trade a meat pie for it. Cost me dearly."
"So you're a snack-bribing stalker now?"
"Only for you. Besides, meat pie is a noble currency."
Eliana chuckled, caught off guard by the absurdity of the conversation. Her guard threatened to drop, but she pulled it back up. Guys like Mae were smooth for a living—and she wasn't here to be another name in his contact list.
The next morning, he found her leaning against the wall outside their lecture hall, earbuds in and eyes half-closed in fake peace.
"You're hard to catch," he said, sliding beside her with that signature grin.
She raised a brow. "Still stalking me?"
"I prefer the term strategically interested."
She gave him a dry stare, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"I'm taking you out after class," he added casually. "Just milkshakes. Ten-minute hangout. No pressure, no weirdness."
Eliana blinked. "Why?"
Mae looked genuinely confused. "Because I like talking to you?"
"You don't even know me."
"That's the point. I want to."
She studied him. Maybe it was the way he asked—not demanding, not desperate. Just… soft confidence. And curiosity.
"Fine. One hour. Not a second more," she said, walking away before he could see her smile.
The café was small, cozy, and not the flashy type Eliana expected from someone like him. It had checkered floors, rotating fans, and a laminated menu that stuck to your fingers when you touched it.
Mae ordered two strawberry milkshakes with extra whipped cream, no hesitation.
"You didn't even ask what I wanted," Eliana pointed out.
"I saw you staring at the strawberry option for two full minutes," he said
She scoffed. "Maybe I was judging it."
"Or craving it. Admit it—I'm good at this."
She looked at him for a second longer than she meant to. He really was. Too good. That made him dangerous.
"You flirt too easily," she murmured.
"I don't," he said, meeting her gaze. "I'm just honest. And you make it… difficult not to say what I think."
Their milkshakes arrived, thick and pink and a little messy. Mae raised his glass. "To… ignoring me for weeks and still agreeing to hang out?"
Eliana clinked hers softly. "To bribing for phone numbers."
They talked. About professors. Deadlines. Their favorite meals. And weirdly, socks. Mae liked colorful ones—like really colorful. Eliana teased him about it for ten minutes straight.
"You don't look like the goofy sock type," she said.
"I don't look like a guy who sips strawberry milkshakes either, but here we are."
There was something freeing about that conversation. No pretenses. No expectations. Just… ease.
When they finished, Mae stood and helped her up. It wasn't even necessary, but the gesture felt oddly warm.
As the sky dimmed into that soft golden-blue of early evening, Mae walked beside Eliana, the silence between them humming with something gentle.
"You always walk home?" he asked, hands casually tucked in his pockets.
"Yeah," she nodded. "It's not too far. Just a few streets off campus."
"Should I—?"
"No need," she cut in quickly, but not coldly. "Really. I do this every day."
Mae raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, but if anyone ever harasses you, I'll have to bribe more people for their addresses."
Eliana chuckled. "You're full of threats involving food."
"I like to keep things interesting."
They reached the edge of her neighborhood, where paved roads gave way to uneven sidewalks, and where streetlights blinked like they were holding on for dear life. Mae slowed his steps, taking in the surroundings without comment or judgment.
"This is me," Eliana said, stopping in front of a faded blue gate with peeling paint.
Mae glanced at the modest compound behind it, then back at her.
"Thanks for coming," he said. "For trusting me. Even if it was just for milkshakes."
"I didn't say I trust you," she said with a smirk.
"Right," Mae nodded, eyes gleaming. "But you didn't block my number either. That's hope."
She turned to go, then paused.
"I don't do drama, Mae. Not anymore."
"You won't find it with me," he said quietly
She didn't answer, just pushed open the gate and slipped inside.
From the front steps, she heard her little brother yelling at the TV and the clatter of pots in the kitchen. Her mother's voice floated in next, humming an old tune under her breath.
Eliana looked back, but Mae was already gone.
Just like he said—no pressure. No drama.
Just milkshakes, soft words, and a boy whose smile might be more dangerous than she was ready for.