The sound of my alarm was the first cruel reminder that the day had begun. I groaned, rolling over and smacking the snooze button. There was no luxury in lingering my schedule didn't allow it. Between morning classes, my part-time job at the campus café, and the relentless pile of assignments waiting in my bag, I had very little time to linger in bed.
I finally forced myself upright, swinging my legs off the side of my small, neatly kept bed. My room in the rented apartment was modest—just enough to fit a bed, a desk littered with notebooks and textbooks, and a tiny wardrobe stuffed with a mixture of casual clothes and the few nicer pieces I owned for presentations or interviews. The walls were decorated sparingly, mostly with motivational posters and a few old photographs of my family. Living alone for the first time wasn't easy, but it had to be. Independence wasn't a choice for me, it was a necessity.
After a quick shower, I pulled on a simple blouse and jeans, tied my long hair into a loose ponytail, and grabbed my worn leather backpack. Breakfast was a hasty affair, a slice of toast and a cup of instant coffee before I headed out the door, mentally running through the day's schedule.
Classes first, then work at the café from noon until four, then study time in the library before heading home to prepare for the next day. It was exhausting, but there was a rhythm to it. I had learned to thrive in chaos, to keep moving, to keep my eyes on my goals. The thought of college life being glamorous or romantic, as some people liked to portray, was laughable. For me, it was survival, ambition, and the faint hope of a brighter future.
As I walked across the campus grounds, my senses attuned to the familiar bustle, students hurrying to lectures, the faint hum of distant conversations, the occasional honk of a passing campus security vehicle, I kept my eyes on the path ahead. My mind was preoccupied with a group project I had due for Business Administration, reviewing in my head the numbers and points I needed to bring to the table.
And then I saw him.
It was subtle at first, a movement out of the corner of my eye but when I looked up, there he was. Andrew Smith.
I froze. Not literally, but in the way that made everything else blur slightly. He was walking across the courtyard with a couple of friends, hands casually tucked into his pockets, his posture confident yet relaxed. He didn't need to walk fast to draw attention; he naturally did. People turned to watch him pass, students nudging each other to notice the same thing I was noticing. There was a charisma to him, the kind that seemed effortless. His smile, when he spoke to his friends, was the kind of smile that could light up a room without him even realizing it.
I quickly looked away, pretending to tie my shoelace, heart beating faster than it should for a stranger. I told myself it was ridiculous. Why would someone like him ever notice someone like me? Ordinary. Independent. Hardworking but far from glamorous. I pulled my backpack tighter on my shoulder and started walking again, reminding myself that this was just another day. Nothing more.
But curiosity lingered, I couldn't help stealing glances as he and his friends moved farther across the campus, laughing easily at something Jackson had said, Travis elbowing him in jest. The confidence he exuded was almost intimidating, but beneath it, there was something else, a flicker of warmth, a softness that made him human rather than untouchable.
Shaking my head, I scolded myself for letting my thoughts wander. I had classes to attend, assignments to think about, and a part-time job waiting. People like Andrew Smith weren't meant for people like me. Not in the same world, not in the same life. I reminded myself of that, and yet a small part of me couldn't let go.
By the time I reached the lecture hall for my first class, I had mentally prepared myself for the day ahead. I slipped into the seat near the back, quietly observing the room as students settled in. My classmates were a mix of familiar faces and strangers, some chatting idly, others nose-deep in textbooks. I pulled out my notes, arranging them neatly on the desk, and focused on the lesson, trying to ignore the echo of Andrew's presence in my mind.
Halfway through the lecture, my phone buzzed, a reminder from the café manager about my shift later. I sighed, tapping the reminder off and returning my attention to the professor. Balancing school and work wasn't easy, but it was necessary. Every peso I earned helped cover rent, groceries, and textbooks. Every hour I spent at the café meant one step closer to financial stability. Independence had a price, and I was determined to pay it without complaint.
After class, I made my way to the café, my mind still flicking back to the brief image of Andrew. The café was already busy with the lunchtime rush. I slipped behind the counter, greeting regulars with a practiced smile, taking orders, and brewing coffee efficiently. Part of me loved the rhythm, the predictability of measuring shots, steaming milk, and hearing the bell chime as the door opened and closed. It was simple, reliable, a small comfort in an otherwise chaotic life.
And then, as if the universe enjoyed teasing me, he appeared.
Andrew Smith.
I froze briefly behind the counter, the coffee cup in my hand rattling slightly. He stepped in with Jackson and Travis, casually scanning the menu board as if he belonged there. My manager nodded politely in their direction, and I hurried to take their order, trying to steady my shaking hands.
"Hi, what can I get you?" I asked, voice steadier than I felt.
Andrew looked up, and for a brief moment, his gaze met mine. My heart skipped. That same easy smile I had noticed earlier crossed his face, genuine and unexpectedly warm.
"I'll have a cappuccino, please," he said. His voice was calm, measured, the kind that could carry authority without trying. "And my friends will have the same."
I nodded, trying to appear unflustered. "Coming right up."
As I prepared their drinks, I couldn't help sneaking glances at him. He didn't fidget or act out of place like some people did when they entered a café on a busy day. He simply existed in the space, confident yet approachable. There was a subtle ease to him, a quiet command of attention that made the world around him pause slightly.
When I placed the drinks in front of them, Andrew's hand brushed mine ever so slightly.
It wasn't intentional, I'm sure just the result of the small space between us. But the warmth that traveled from that brief touch made me swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden heat creeping up my neck.
"Thanks," he said, his eyes meeting mine again. "I appreciate it."
I nodded, forcing a smile. "You're welcome."