INSIDE PROF. Rodel's office, Iyana, Anya, and Ryan—the class vice president—sat in the chairs by the desk, waiting for signatures on their clearances.
Iyana flipped through a book, her eyes bored on the page, while Anya's voice filled the room.
"I didn't expect Advent Properties to be interested in me," she chuckled for the third time. "I was so shocked about the offer."
Prof. Rodel smiled in his usual fatherly way, adjusting his glasses as he stacked papers. "Well, you've always been talented at design."
"As expected of you. High demand," Ryan added with a grin.
"It's just that ATC has better offers. You know, housing and transport allowances," Anya sighed lazily.
"Wow, really? ATC is great, huh? Calix only gives transport," Ryan said, still smiling.
He had just been accepted into Calix, a construction company in the North Region. Though he'd wanted to apply to bigger corporations, he chose one in the North because it was home.
Then he turned to Iyana.
"Iyana, have you decided yet? You should've joined that trip to the steel plant back then."
Without looking up, Iyana flipped another page.
"Wasn't I not allowed on that trip?"
"You didn't go, Miss Jiran?" Prof. Rodel's voice carried a faint flinch.
Iyana smiled faintly, catching how Anya's expression went stiff. She knew the truth: Anya had been behind barring her from the plant visit just to cut her chance with the steel company.
She finally looked up at Prof. Rodel.
"I had things to do at that time, Prof."
"Hm." He pushed up his glasses, his eyes narrowing with thought. "I'd love to know where you'll go after graduation."
Suddenly, the door was opened.
Ryan let out a muffled sound, while the others rose quickly and unexpectedly. Iyana turned. It was the College Dean, Prof. Vans—rarely seen on campus. Relief flickered through her; she'd been waiting for his signature.
But then her gaze slipped past him.
She froze.
Another man stepped in, taller, his presence filling the doorway. He wore blue jeans and a white shirt under a dark coat. Back in the café, and that night on the street a month ago, she'd barely taken in his face. Now she saw him clearly. Taller than she remembered. Hard lines cut not just across his face but through his entire frame. His eyes were ebony, sharp and unyielding. She had to admit—his looks were striking.
She rose but didn't move closer, while Anya and Ryan, as officers, naturally stepped forward to greet the guest.
Prof. Vans introduced the guest.
He was Clyde Heines, a Boston graduate in computational physics and now a software engineer at a finance company. While the two professors spoke animatedly, he stood still—lips faintly curved, his dark, unreadable eyes fixed on them.
Iyana looked at him.
He had been only a passing thought, drifting in and out of her mind, yet here he was—flesh and blood, with a name and a background. No longer a memory caught between dream and reality.
Her heart pounded for no reason at all.
Anya's side-eye urged her to go, and truthfully, she wanted to. It was humiliating—of all people, she had ranted in front of someone who knew the College Dean. She wanted to pinch herself for ever badmouthing Mizuri.
As she began to retreat, a heavy stare tugged at her, pulling her gaze upward until it met his dark eyes.
Her steps halted.
She quickly decided to nod politely and end it there.
But with a slow curve of his lips, he spoke lightly.
"We've met again."
Everyone turned.
Their eyes flicked between her and him.
"You're familiar with Miss Jiran?" Prof. Rodel asked.
"Yes," Clyde said in a low, unhurried tone. "Very much so. She gave me a ride once."
Iyana's heart lurched.
He made it sound as if they were acquaintances—not strangers who had crossed paths only once. She forced a thin smile. "Good to see you."
"Great for me," Clyde replied with a faint smile, then turned back to the professors as though nothing had happened.
"On my mother's side, there's a long history of book collecting," he continued, finally answering Prof. Rodel's question. "And we have a tradition of donating books and funds to libraries."
"Oh," Prof. Rodel nodded, beaming.
The professor admitted that although Mizuri had the largest university library in the country, it still lacked many important materials.
"We're trying our best. But you know, state universities are usually underfunded. At least five years ago, our college finally built its own library," he added.
Prof. Vans chuckled.
"I've known Clyde for a long time—his mother's family is from the South," he said. "He's a serious book collector. And a very generous donor. Much like his grandfather."
"Let's go sit down in the committee room," Prof. Rodel chuckled.
Standing beside him, Anya was still transfixed by Clyde's face. When he turned to her, she blinked several times.
"You're the class president? Come recommend some books," he said drily, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh—yes, sir," she grinned.
"Might as well join the others. They're all bright students," Prof. Rodel said.
Iyana frowned.
The pathway to the meeting room didn't run through the hallway if one was already inside Prof. Rodel's office. His office had a private door that opened straight into it.
As the others moved ahead, she glanced at the door leading outside. She was so focused on it that the book in her hand slipped from her grip. When she turned, she found Clyde flipping through it, his eyes scanning the pages.
"You enjoy crime stories?" he asked, not looking at her, his thumb running down the paper.
"Not really, sir."
"Clyde," he corrected softly, the faintest curve on his lips. "Don't be overly polite to the man who braved a foul street just to walk beside you."
She blinked.
Foul?
He made it sound so…
Then he walked away, still flipping through her book.
She exhaled.
Now she had no choice but to follow.
She had only come to ask for clearance—and instead found herself caught here, wishing she were back at the dorm.
*