Just like that, one month flew by.
It amazed me how quickly life could change its rhythm. One moment, I was the girl with too many bags and too much emotional baggage. The next, I was… settled. Almost.
Work was intense—but in the best way. I was adapting fast. I'd always been a quick learner, and being adaptable had become my survival skill over the years. Still, I didn't expect to enjoy the lab this much.
Dr. Besong, my supervisor, was a brilliant man—charming, precise, and disarmingly patient. he had a calm way of explaining things, making the most complicated chemical reactions sound like bedtime stories. And I was soaking it all in.
That said, nothing could've prepared me for the kind of curveballs real-world science threw at you.
One Wednesday afternoon, we were working on scaling a synthesis process for an anti-inflammatory drug. I'd read the theory, done simulations during my internships, and even handled the miniature versions of the process before. But this time, the stakes were higher. This was the real deal.
Everything was going fine—temperature controlled, solvents balanced, pH levels perfect. But just when we introduced the catalyst, the solution turned cloudy instead of amber.
"Contamination?" I whispered, panic tickling my spine.
Dr. Besong stepped in, ran a few tests, then looked up with a raised brow. "Nope. It's reacting with a stabilizer we didn't account for. They switched the brand of ethanol used."
A different brand. That tiny difference had completely changed the reaction profile. I blinked, stunned. Something so basic, so textbook, had just spiraled into a full day of trial and error.
Theory is beautiful. Practice is brutal.
But it was the kind of brutal that made me love science more.
As for life outside the lab?
Also beautiful. Surprisingly so.
Alvin and I had grown close. Really close. In one month, we'd found a rhythm again—like two puzzle pieces rediscovering their original fit.
It was scary how alike we were. Same sarcastic sense of humor. Same taste in music. Same tendency to overthink the simplest things. And he always had this… calming presence. Like even if the world was falling apart, he'd find a way to smile and make you believe everything would be okay.
We'd explored so much of B-town together. The hills, the historical buildings, the local markets that smelled like spices and memories. He dropped me off at work every morning, sometimes picked me up too. On weekends, he took me sightseeing or introduced me to his favorite hangout spots.
He was also a very dedicated Christian. Every Sunday morning, no matter how tired I was, he'd show up with that same calm smile and say, "Let's go, service starts in 30."
And I'd go. Because with him… I wanted to go.
But as our connection deepened, I started to feel it—the tiny fear sneaking in.
The restlessness in my chest when he was near. The way I caught myself smiling at his texts again. The comfort in his presence… the dependence it was starting to create. I wasn't used to needing people. But with Alvin, I didn't feel like I was losing myself. I felt… safe. Scared, yes. But mostly safe.
So I chose to let myself feel it. Chose happiness.
And then came that night.
We were curled up on his couch, watching some cheesy romance movie I'd seen a hundred times before. I'd popped popcorn. The room was dim, the air cool.
Then the couple on screen started kissing.
And suddenly, the room wasn't cool anymore.
At first, we both pretended to focus on the movie. Then our gazes met. I saw it in his eyes—the same tension in mine. Desire, slow and undeniable, rising like heat between us.
He leaned closer. I didn't move.
When our noses brushed, I held my breath.
Then his lips—soft and warm—pressed against mine.
They lingered. My heart thudded wildly.
Two seconds.
Then he deepened the kiss. Slow. Intentional. Everything else melted away.
After maybe two minutes, he pulled back, but our foreheads stayed pressed together. Neither of us said a word.
Then he whispered, "Be my girl again, Kim."
My heart stopped.
I pulled away, eyes wide. It was so sudden. I couldn't think. I ran to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, breathing in and out like my life depended on it.
In.
Out.
Five deep breaths.
I stared at my reflection. "What are you so afraid of?" I whispered.
When I returned, Alvin was still sitting there, brows slightly furrowed. The worry on his face made something twist inside me.
"Take your time," he said gently. "You don't have to answer now."
I paused at the doorway.
Then whispered, "Yes."
He blinked. "What did you say?"
I smiled. "Yes, Alvin. I'll be your girl again."
I ran to him. Kissed him. His arms wrapped around me and he smiled so big, it made me laugh.
The rest of the evening passed in cozy silence. Arms tangled. Popcorn forgotten. Movie still playing.
At around 10:15, I stood to leave, but he said, "Stay."
And for the first time in my life, I didn't overthink it.I stayed.
I spent the night in his embrace—warm, peaceful, safe.
It was my first time sleeping beside someone. First time feeling what it was like to belong somewhere, in someone's arms, not through a screen or a fantasy, but in reality.
And it felt good.
It felt good not to run. Again.