Mondays carried a special kind of cruelty. Not the dramatic kind that announced itself with chaos or disaster, but the quiet, dragging cruelty that stretched minutes into hours and made the body feel heavier than it already was. This particular Monday had arrived with dull skies and a humid stillness that clung to skin, as though the air itself had decided to be uncooperative.
Lauren sat in the lecture hall among a sea of students, one hundred and twenty bodies crammed into long wooden seats that had seen far better days. The hall smelled faintly of dust, old paper, and the lingering trace of cheap perfume. Ceiling fans groaned overhead, spinning lazily, offering little relief. From the front of the hall, the lecturer continued speaking, his voice steady, unbroken, and entirely unbothered by the collective fatigue radiating from his audience.
He had been talking for what felt like forever.
Lauren tried to focus at first. She really did. She sat upright, pen in hand, notebook open, eyes fixed on the lecturer as though concentration alone might make the words stick. But the lecture dragged on, looping through explanations that seemed unnecessarily long, and her attention slowly slipped away. Around her, students began to surrender to boredom in their own ways. Some rested their heads on desks. Others scrolled through their phones with practiced subtlety. A few whispered quietly, laughter muffled by palms.
Lauren's stomach growled, a low, traitorous sound that reminded her she had skipped breakfast in her rush to make it on time. She shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the hunger, but exhaustion crept up on her all the same. Her eyelids grew heavy. The lecturer's voice blended into the background, becoming a low, constant hum.
At some point, without meaning to, she fell asleep.
When she woke, it was with a sharp jolt, her head lifting suddenly as though pulled by an invisible string. For a moment, confusion washed over her. The hall looked the same. The lecturer was still talking. Still standing. Still explaining.
She glanced at the time.
How is he still here?
A groan rippled through her thoughts. Hunger clawed at her stomach now, sharp and insistent. She shifted again, rubbing her face, trying to reorient herself. If this was what every Monday looked like, she was going to need a serious adjustment.
In a class of one hundred and twenty students, organisation was supposed to matter. On paper, it did. They had four class presidents- two male, two female- each responsible for maintaining order, passing information, and acting as a bridge between students and lecturers.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lecturer paused. He looked at his wristwatch, frowned slightly, and let out a breath.
A collective wave of hope surged through the hall.
"Is the next lecturer coming?" he asked.
The response was immediate and unified.
"No, sir."
The relief was almost tangible.
He nodded slowly, as though weighing something in his mind. Then he said the words that crushed that hope without mercy.
"Alright. Then let's do something quickly before we leave."
Groans echoed openly this time. Someone muttered a curse under their breath. Lauren slumped back in her seat, staring at the ceiling.
The lecturer reached for a stack of papers and cleared his throat.
"This course involves a semester-long project," he began. "You'll be working in pairs."
The hall stirred. Lauren straightened slightly. Group work was rarely simple, but pairs were manageable. At least she wouldn't be dealing with too many personalities at once.
"I don't want any complaints," the lecturer continued. "Partners will be assigned."
Of course.
One of the class presidents was instructed to come forward and start calling names. The process was slow and tedious. Names echoed across the hall, students standing briefly before sitting back down beside strangers who were now their academic fate...in his course.
Lauren listened absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting. She wondered what she would eat after class. She wondered how long it would take before she finally memorised the campus layout. She wondered how many times she would still get lost before the semester ended.
Then she heard her name.
"Lauren."
She stood, smoothing her skirt, feeling a few eyes turn toward her. Another name followed, a girl she vaguely recognised from the hostel. They exchanged a quick glance, a mutual shrug, and sat beside each other. That was that. Or so Lauren thought.
The process continued until the lecturer frowned again, staring at the list.
"No, no," he muttered. "These two cannot work together."
He pointed at the two male class presidents, who had somehow ended up paired. Without hesitation, he began rearranging names, breaking pairs and forming new ones. The hall buzzed with quiet reactions- confusion, mild annoyance, curiosity.
Lauren's name was called again.
She looked up, startled.
This time, another name followed.
"Anthon."
There was a brief pause, not dramatic, not deliberate, just enough to register the shift. Lauren turned slightly, scanning the hall until she saw him. He sat a few rows back, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. He raised his hand briefly in acknowledgment before standing.
Their eyes didn't meet for long.
To Lauren, he was just another face in a crowded hall. Another name she would probably forget by tomorrow. She sat back down, already dismissing the pairing as unimportant.
But somewhere beneath that indifference, something subtle stirred.
Not a glow.
Not a pull.
Just a faint awareness- as though a thread had brushed against another and decided to stay.
The lecturer dismissed the class soon after, finally granting everyone freedom. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor as students rushed to leave. Lauren packed her things quickly, eager to escape the hall and find food.
She didn't look for Anthon.
She didn't think about him.
Not yet.
But encounters that matter rarely announce themselves loudly. They arrive quietly, disguised as inconvenience, coincidence, or boredom.
And this one had already taken its place
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