I woke up to the sound of breathing that was not mine.
This, in itself, was not alarming.
What was alarming was that the breathing was warm, steady, and attached to an arm draped possessively—yet casually—across my waist like it had filed the proper paperwork and received approval.
I opened one eye.
Ceiling: unfamiliar.
Pillow: too expensive.
Sheet: very much not mine.
Memory began loading slowly, like bad campus Wi-Fi.
Movie night.
Wine.
More wine.
Laughing.
A very heated debate about whether the villain in the second movie was misunderstood or just stupid.
Jin smiling at me in that way that should honestly be regulated by law.
Then—oh.
Right.
We had, as adults say when trying not to scream internally, done the thing.
I did not panic.
I did not scream.
I did not leap out of bed dramatically like in those cautionary dramas my aunties love.
Instead, I lay there very still, staring at the ceiling, conducting a calm internal audit.
Body check: alive.
Dignity: dented, but intact.
Regret: surprisingly absent.
Hangover: pending.
The arm around my waist tightened slightly, and Jin murmured something incoherent that sounded like my name but could also have been "waffles."
I turned my head slowly.
There he was.
Hair messy in an unfairly attractive way. One eye half-open. A smile already forming like he knew something I didn't.
"Good morning," he said, voice rough and unapologetically cheerful.
I stared at him.
"Why," I asked calmly, "are you awake?"
He laughed. "Because you're staring at me like you're about to write a thesis on my face."
"I am," I said. "It's titled Choices Were Made."
He grinned wider. "I'd like to be cited."
I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head.
"Oh no," I muttered. "You're funny in the morning."
"I've always been funny," he said, gently tugging the blanket down. "You were just too responsible to notice."
I peeked at him again.
There was no awkwardness. No scrambling. No regret-filled silence.
Just… us. In a bed. After a night that had crossed a line neither of us seemed interested in erasing.
"Well," I said finally, sitting up and clutching the blanket strategically, "congratulations."
"For?" he asked.
"You survived the night," I said. "Barely."
He laughed and sat up too, completely unbothered by his lack of concern for modesty. I, meanwhile, was wrapped like a burrito.
"You okay?" he asked, softer now.
I considered the question honestly.
"I think so," I said. "I don't feel ruined. Or cursed. Or like lightning is about to strike me down."
"Disappointing," he said. "I was hoping for dramatic consequences."
I snorted. "This isn't that kind of novel."
"Yet," he said pointedly.
I threw a pillow at him.
Breakfast happened in a way that felt suspiciously domestic.
Jin moved around the kitchen like he'd done this a thousand times—shirtless, barefoot, humming, pulling things out of cabinets I hadn't known existed. I sat at the counter, wearing one of his hoodies, watching him like he might disappear if I blinked.
"This is weird," I said.
"What is?" he asked, flipping something in a pan.
"The calm," I said. "Where's the chaos? The regret? The awkward silence?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "We can manufacture some if you want."
"No," I said quickly. "God, no."
He smiled. "Relax. We're adults. We drank, we talked, we crossed a line, we woke up. No one burst into flames."
"Yet," I repeated.
He plated the food—eggs, toast, fruit like he was trying to convince me he had his life together—and slid a plate toward me.
"Eat," he said. "You'll need strength."
"For what?" I asked.
"For facing the world knowing you look this good after no sleep."
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.
We ate, talked nonsense, lots and lots of nonsense, laughed about things that absolutely did not matter. He told me a story about crashing a company party abroad.
I told him about my first week in China and accidentally bowing to a vending machine.
Hilarious haha, I know.
At some point, it hit me.
This wasn't just attraction.
This was… comfort.
That realization settled in my chest, warm and dangerous.
"Ready?" Jin asked later, keys spinning around his finger.
"For?" I asked, slipping on my shoes.
"School," he said. "Unless you plan on skipping after your very scandalous night."
I paused. "We're going together?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I own a Lamborghini. It would be rude not to."
I stared at him.
"You're going to drive me to campus," I said slowly, "in that car."
"Yes."
"People will see us."
"Yes."
"I am a foreign student."
"Yes."
"And black."
"Yes."
"And you're—"
"Very handsome?" he offered.
I sighed. "This feels like a bad idea."
He opened the door dramatically. "Get in, Thandeka. Let chaos have its moment."
Chaos arrived right on schedule.
The Lamborghini purred into campus like it had something to prove. Heads turned. Phones came out. Whispers followed us like a soundtrack.
I stepped out of the car, trying to look unbothered and failing only slightly.
Then I felt it.
The stare.
Sharp. Assessing. Unfriendly.
I looked up.
Ming.
Campus belle. Perfect hair. Perfect posture. Perfect smile that did not reach her eyes.
She stood frozen, watching Jin lean over to say something to me—probably something stupid—and laugh.
Her jaw tightened.
Oh.
Oh.
"That," I muttered, "is not good."
Jin followed my gaze. "Ming?"
"You know her," I said.
"Everyone knows her," he replied. "She's been glaring at me since ninth grade."
I blinked. "Ninth grade?"
"Long story," he said. "Very unrequited."
Ming's eyes flicked to me. Down. Up.
Her smile sharpened.
I smiled back.
I am polite. Not weak.
As Jin walked me toward class, I felt it—the shift. The calculation. The beginning of something ugly and inevitable.
Ming was already planning.
And somehow, I knew—
This was only the start.
That bitch.
By lunchtime, I had learned three things:
News travels faster than Wi-Fi on this campus.
A Lamborghini is apparently a public announcement.
Ming did not believe in subtlety—she believed in war.
I sat in my lecture hall pretending to take notes while my phone vibrated like it was possessed.
Unknown Number: So you're Jin's new project?
Unknown Number: Interesting choice.
Unknown Number: Bold.
I stared at the screen.
"Who is texting you like they pay your tuition?" the girl next to me whispered.
"I don't know," I whispered back. "But they're about to be blocked."
I blocked the number.
Peace lasted approximately four minutes.
Then Ming entered the lecture hall.
She did not walk. She arrived.
Perfect posture. Flowing skirt. Expression carefully neutral, like she'd practiced indifference in the mirror and scored full marks. She scanned the room and—of course—her eyes landed on me.
Bitch.
She smiled.
I did not.
She chose the seat directly in front of me.
Bold strategy.
I leaned forward slightly. "Is there a reason you're sitting there?"
She turned slowly, like a movie villain.
"Oh," she said sweetly, "I just thought I'd introduce myself properly."
"We've met," I said. "You stared at me like I stole something."
She laughed lightly. "You misunderstand. I was simply… surprised."
"By what?" I asked. "My face?"
"By your confidence," she said, eyes flicking briefly to my braids. "It's admirable. Especially here."
Ah.
There it was.
I smiled, calm and bright. "Thank you. I practice."
Her smile thinned. "Jin has always had… interesting phases."
I tilted my head. "Is that what you call grown men making their own choices?"
Her eyes flashed.
Before she could respond, the lecturer began speaking. Ming turned forward, but not before murmuring, "Be careful, Thandeka. Some doors aren't meant to be opened."
Yeah right. Like that's gonna make me shit myself.
I leaned back in my seat, heart steady.
Neither are cages, I thought.
By the end of the day, Jin was waiting for me outside the building, leaning against his car like a walking bad decision.
"You look like you survived something," he said.
"Ming," I replied.
He groaned. "Already?"
"She sat in front of me," I said. "She smiled like she wanted to poison my tea."
"That's her friendly face."
"Good to know," I said. "Next time I'll run."
He laughed. "Ignore her. She thrives on attention."
"I don't think she plans on being ignored," I said.
He studied me for a moment. "You okay?"
I nodded. "I didn't come all this way to be intimidated."
That made him smile—soft, proud.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go before someone starts a fan page."
As we drove off, I glanced back.
Ming was watching, meticulously like a hawk.
And she was already smiling again.
Not sweetly.
Strategically.
Something told me this campus wasn't done testing me.
And something else—equally unsettling—told me I wasn't done surprising myself.
By the next morning, my name had apparently developed legs.
I knew this because when I walked into the student café, conversations did not stop—but they adjusted. Voices dipped. Laughter bent sideways. Eyes pretended not to stare while staring very hard.
I ordered coffee like a woman with nothing to hide.
The barista blinked at me. "You're… brave."
"For caffeine?" I asked.
"For existing," she replied, handing me my cup like it was a peace offering.
The fuck?! Wow.
I took a sip. Bitter. Strong. Necessary.
Across the room, Ming sat with her usual entourage—three girls who nodded too much and laughed half a second too late. She wasn't looking at me directly. She didn't need to. Her presence alone felt like a press release.
I slid into a chair and opened my laptop.
Focus. Education. Future. Remember why you're here.
My phone buzzed.
Jin: Do you regret yesterday?
I smiled despite myself.
Me: No. Do you?
Jin: Only that I didn't drive faster so everyone could mind their business sooner.
I laughed out loud.
That's right. I am that bitch.
Someone nearby gasped, like joy was inappropriate under the circumstances.
Ming made her move that afternoon.
Not directly. That would be inelegant.
She went academic.
I was called into the department office under the pretense of a "schedule clarification."
Innocent. Administrative. Boring.
The moment I stepped inside, I knew.
Two faculty members sat behind the desk. One smiled politely. The other looked uncomfortable. Ming sat to the side, hands folded, face concerned.
Concerned like a snake pretending to be a scarf.
"Thandeka," the older professor said. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," I said. "What seems to be the issue?"
Ming inhaled softly. "I didn't want to say anything," she began, already saying everything, "but I felt it was my responsibility."
I turned to her. "About?"
She met my eyes. "Professional boundaries."
Ah.
There it was.
"I've noticed," she continued, voice smooth, "that you've been spending a lot of time with Jin Fu. He's… well-known. Influential. And given your background as an international student, I worried about misunderstandings."
Bitch.
Bitch.
The room went very quiet.
I felt anger rise—but I kept my face calm.
"With respect," I said, "my friendships are not a disciplinary matter."
One professor cleared his throat. "There have been… implications."
"Implications," I repeated. "Or assumptions?"
Ming looked wounded. "I'm only concerned for the institution's reputation."
I smiled then. A real one.
Eat my shit.
"I am too," I said. "Which is why I make sure my grades, attendance, and conduct are impeccable."
I slid my transcript onto the desk.
Silence.
The professors exchanged a glance.
"Well," one said slowly, "there doesn't appear to be any violation."
Ming's jaw tightened.
"But," the other added, "perception matters."
I stood. "So does fairness."
I bowed slightly. "Thank you for your time."
As I walked out, I heard Ming exhale sharply.
She had fired a warning shot.
She missed.
Like I said, I an that bitch.
Jin found out ten minutes later.
"Are you kidding me?" he snapped, pacing his living room. "She went to faculty?"
"Indirectly," I said. "With concern."
"I'll talk to her."
"No," I said firmly. "You won't."
He stopped. "Why not?"
"Because that gives her exactly what she wants," I said. "Attention. Validation. Proof that I need rescuing."
He studied me, then smiled slowly.
"You're terrifying," he said. "In the best way."
"I know," I replied. "It's a learned skill."
He stepped closer. "I should've warned you."
"No," I said. "I should've expected it."
A pause settled between us—not awkward, but weighted.
"You okay?" he asked again, softer.
"Yes," I said. "But things are changing."
He nodded. "They always do."
Outside, the city moved on—unaware, uncaring.
Inside me, something solidified.
I had crossed an invisible line the night before. Not just with Jin—but with myself.
I wasn't here to disappear quietly.
And Ming?
She had no idea who she'd chosen to challenge.
Not yet.
By mid-semester, I had developed a reputation. Not the quiet, "studious international student" kind. Not the "accidentally intimidating" kind. No. This was a full-blown, don't-mess-with-her reputation.
It was subtle. It was unspoken. But it was there, like a shadow that moved just slightly faster than you expected.
I didn't need Jin's Lamborghini to assert myself. I didn't need Fu Jincheng's influence. I didn't even need my charming smile.
I just… existed.
I was popular for just being there.
And somehow, that was enough.
Ming, of course, did not approve.
She had tried her first move: whisper campaigns, "innocent" warnings to faculty, questions meant to undermine me. Nothing worked.
The campus whispers about me weren't negative. They were tinged with awe.
"She's… scary."
"Yeah, scary smart."
"And confident."
"And funny."
I did not know whether to laugh or accept it as my new official identity. So I did both.
Ming sat one day on the library steps, plotting like a tiny, furious general. I walked past her, smiled politely, and waved.
Her jaw almost dislocated in anger.
I waved again.
She did not wave back.
I sighed dramatically and whispered to myself, "Another day in the kingdom."
It was not all fearsome power moves and silent respect. There were… funny moments.
Like the time someone spilled tea on Ming's laptop during an accidental book collision in the library. I did not do it. I swear. But the timing was impeccable. She glared at me as though I had personally orchestrated the calamity.
Hehe.
"I did not touch your laptop," I said sweetly, pretending to be the most innocent person alive.
"Yes, but you exist, Thandeka," she hissed.
Kill me if you can.
I nearly fell over laughing in the quietest possible way.
"Yes, I exist," I said, bowing slightly. "And I shall continue to exist."
It became a thing. People started watching the dynamic like a live soap opera.
Meanwhile, Jin's suspicion levels were reaching new heights.
We were sitting one night in his apartment, playing ridiculous video games, and he paused mid-controller swing.
"You're… really not like anyone else," he said slowly, blinking like he was realizing a deep conspiracy.
"I think that's a compliment," I said, flipping him off playfully.
"No," he said. "No, it's weirdly concerning. You're… strategic. Funny. People fear you without trying. And you handle everything—literally everything—like it's breathing."
I laughed. "It is breathing. It's called oxygen."
"No, I mean—something is… off. Your background."
I raised an eyebrow. "Off?"
He leaned closer, voice conspiratorial. "I swear you're secretly some kind of warlord from Africa. Rich, mysterious, dangerous."
I nearly choked on my soda.
Imagine.
"I am not a warlord," I said, laughing so hard I almost fell off the couch. "I am completely normal. Fear me for my brain and my sass, not some secret army."
Jin looked unconvinced.
"You could have been raised on diamonds, taught how to fight with your pinky, and trained to negotiate world peace before breakfast," he said.
"Absolutely not," I said. "I just drink too much coffee and argue excessively online. That's my origin story."
He shook his head in disbelief. "And yet, somehow, you command respect and fear."
"I've been told it's a gift," I said, smirking.
Ming escalated her schemes.
She started subtle. Fake study sessions, accidentally-on-purpose dropping papers near me to "check my notes," whispers about "favoritism" whenever Jin was nearby.
I handled everything with the same calm precision I applied to breathing.
She would try to trip me up, and I would… smile. Help her pick up her books. Offer insight into the assignments she was struggling with. Outperform her in group projects without even trying.
It was like watching a cat chase a laser pointer while I casually walked past, fully aware of the chaos but utterly detached.
Ming's frustration became cinematic. She would stare daggers at me across campus, and yet every attempt at sabotage fell flat.
She tried to post subtle rumors about me on campus forums.
My classmates—loyal, intelligent, and secretly amused—protected me like a secret club.
One day, she whispered, "You think you're untouchable."
I smiled politely. "I am untouchable. But thank you for the compliment."
She gasped like I had just performed dark magic.
Jin continued to try and understand me.
"You don't seem… influenced by anyone," he said one evening, leaning against the balcony railing in his apartment, looking out over the city lights. "Not me. Not your professors. Not even—" He paused dramatically—"your enemies."
"That's called boundaries," I said. "And being clever enough not to lose my mind when people are ridiculous."
He laughed. "I still think there's some secret warlord or billionaire origin story you're hiding."
I turned to him, smirking. "If I were secretly a warlord, would I tell you?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. I'd like to think you'd recruit me."
I nearly spit out my drink.
"I might consider making you my lieutenant," I said. "But only if you survive the first initiation: dealing with Ming."
Jin laughed, throwing his head back. "I accept."
"Good," I said. "You'll need your sense of humor. It's mandatory."
Ming's schemes continued, getting more dramatic by the day.
She tried to bribe classmates into discrediting me.
Failed.
She tried to set up "accidental" run-ins with faculty.
Failed.
She tried to corner me in elevators with lectures about professionalism.
Failed.
Each failure made her look more ridiculous. Each failure reinforced my reputation.
It was almost too easy.
I began to notice a strange phenomenon: the more she tried to pull me down, the higher my standing rose. Students began consulting me for advice. Even faculty sought my insight on project planning or class engagement strategies.
Ming's jealousy was obvious. Her carefully constructed image of "most admired girl on campus" was unraveling. And the more she watched me thrive… the more she fumed.
Meanwhile, Jin's curiosity grew exponentially.
Literally.
"You do have some kind of background, right?" he asked one night while we were eating instant noodles in his apartment, pajamas at 10 pm, living the college dream.
"Like… your family, money, connections. Something."
I shook my head. "I am literally just me."
He narrowed his eyes. "No. No. Impossible. Someone who handles Ming like a pro, survives campus politics without flinching, scares people without effort… that is not natural."
"It's called talent and caffeine," I said.
He leaned back dramatically. "Talent and caffeine cannot explain everything. There's history. I feel it."
It hit me. Fu Jincheng.
"I'm boring," I said. "Really. I've read more textbooks than most people care to know. I argue with strangers online. I drink too much coffee. That's literally it."
He studied me like a detective piecing together a crime.
"I still think you're some kind of African warlord," he said.
"I told you—wrong," I replied, laughing.
He smirked. "You make it too easy to believe it."
And somehow, he wasn't wrong.
Life continued, chaotic in the best way.
Classes, assignments, late-night study sessions, lunch breaks stolen in quiet corners, and occasional drives in the Lamborghini—always lowkey, always careful not to provoke Ming too openly, though she inevitably noticed.
Her schemes became increasingly desperate.
One day, she tried to plant a note in my locker. I found it and posted a humorous photo of it on a private group chat with my classmates, captioned: Mysterious Admirer Seeks Advice on Campus Dominance. Tips?
The chat exploded. Ming nearly had a meltdown when she saw that her little attempt had gone viral among the student body.
Another day, she tried passive-aggressive social media posts about "certain people who think rules don't apply to them." I commented: Rules? I follow them religiously. Except for naps and snacks.
She nearly combusted.
Through all of this, Jin observed with growing fascination.
"You're terrifying," he said one evening, sprawled on his couch as I sorted my notes.
We hung out often than usual.
"Not because you're violent. Not because you fight. But because… everything that comes your way, you handle it like it's nothing. Like air."
"Exactly," I said. "Breathing. Air. Essential. Not a threat unless ignored."
He laughed. "I feel like I'm living with a campus legend."
"You are," I said. "You just didn't know it yet."
He grinned. "I also think you're hiding a secret treasure chest somewhere."
"I'm hiding a lot," I admitted. "Mostly patience and caffeine. And maybe revenge if Ming gets too annoying."
He laughed again. "Do you ever sleep?"
"Sometimes," I said, smirking. "Mostly, I thrive on chaos."
By the end of the semester, I had solidified my position.
I was feared. Respected. Admired. A mysterious figure whose presence alone shaped campus politics, social hierarchies, and even minor gossip networks.
And all of this—every ounce of power, every bit of influence—I had earned without relying on Jin or Fu Jincheng.
Ming's fury was palpable. She seethed when she passed me. She plotted relentlessly.
And yet… she could not touch me.
I had become something that existed outside of her control.
One evening, Jin sat on the balcony with me, sipping cheap wine and laughing at stories I exaggerated about Ming's latest fiasco.
"You're insane," he said, smiling like he had uncovered a particularly delightful secret.
"I prefer… strategic," I corrected.
"You're terrifying. And amazing. And funny. And also, maybe secretly a warlord."
Will he stop. I know I'm amazing hehe.
I laughed, leaning against him. "You still don't know my secrets."
He smirked, eyes glinting. "I have a feeling they're delicious."
I smiled back, thinking of the path I had carved for myself—fearless, unapologetic, unstoppable.
Ming could plot all she wanted. Jin could suspect all he wanted.
I had power. Real, terrifying, unstoppable power.
And it was all mine.