Exams were approaching at an alarming speed—and so was my heartbeat. The pressure was unrelenting. I studied almost every day, mostly with Nadia, sometimes alone. My room had become more of a storage unit than a living space. I was either holed up in the library or camped out in Nadia's room, flipping through flashcards and textbooks like they held the key to survival.
One evening, as I dashed in to grab a few things, Zinny raised her head dramatically from her bed and asked,
"Alora, are you sure you're not some vengeful ghost here for unfinished business?"
Lizzy burst into laughter. "Seriously though, we've barely seen you around."
"I'm human, I promise," I said with a tired smile. "It's just this exam season—it's messing with my sanity. Feels like no matter how much I study, it's never enough."
"You're being too hard on yourself," Lizzy said, her voice kind. "You've been grinding like a machine. I'm sure you'll do well. But don't forget to rest. Your body isn't invincible."
"You guys are the absolute best," I replied, stuffing my books into my tote. "I swear, once this storm passes, we're having the biggest post-exam hangout."
"As for me," Zinny chimed in dramatically, "I'll read what I can and leave the rest for God. Education won't bury me alive."
We all laughed—Zinny always had a way of lightening even the most suffocating moments.
When I got to Nadia's room, she was still in the bathroom. I exhaled in relief—at least I'd have a few minutes to breathe before diving into another intense session.
"Girl! I thought you bailed on me!" she called out from behind the door. "What took you so long?"
"I tried to nap before heading out," I replied, sinking into a chair and unlocking my phone. "Didn't mean to sleep half the day away. I honestly can't wait for this madness to be over."
The moment I touched my screen, a message lit up.
Weston:
Nadia mentioned how stressed you've been, prepping for exams. I might have a trick or two to help relieve that tension.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips before I could stop it. Even in the chaos of looming deadlines and brain-melting study marathons, Weston still had a way of slipping past my mental defenses—effortlessly.
"Who's texting you that's making you smile like a lovesick goat?" Nadia asked, stepping out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her head. I hadn't even noticed she was back in the room.
I raised a brow at her, holding up my phone. "Did you give him my number?"
She shrugged, feigning innocence as she rummaged through her drawer. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way... you're welcome."
I rolled my eyes, but my fingers were already flying across the screen, typing a reply before my brain could overthink it.
Me:
Oh really? I hope it's not one of those "just breathe and meditate" speeches because I might actually scream.
I hit send, then tossed the phone onto the bed, trying to appear nonchalant—like my heart wasn't suddenly doing gymnastics.
Nadia was watching me with a knowing smirk, a towel now hanging over her shoulder. "So…?"
"So what?"
"Don't play dumb, Alora. You like him."
I blinked. "I don't—"
She cut me off with a laugh. "Please. The smile, the tone, the little spark in your eye. I know that look."
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. "Focus! We're supposed to be studying."
"Sure," she said, ducking. "Let's study after you reply to that message properly. I saw that weak comeback."
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed again.
Weston:
I promise—no deep breathing exercises. Just a little sunset and suya therapy. Meet me after your study session?
I stared at the screen, heart thudding a little too loudly in my chest.
Nadia peeked over. "Girl, if you say no, I'm revoking your right to complain about stress."
I sighed, smiling despite myself.
Me:
Deal. But if I don't feel less stressed by the end, I'm demanding a refund.
Weston:
Fair. But I have a good track record. You won't be disappointed.
I tried to focus on studying with Nadia after that, I really did—but my mind kept wandering. The words on the pages of my anatomy textbook blurred into meaningless lines. Every few minutes, I caught myself glancing at the clock.
"Just go already," Nadia said at one point, not even looking up from her notes. "You've reread the same paragraph five times."
I groaned dramatically. "How do you know?"
"Because I've been watching you," she deadpanned. "Now go. And don't come back unless you've smiled at least twelve times."
"Deal," I said with a mock salute, grabbing my bag.
Weston was waiting outside the hostel gate, leaning casually against his car like he belonged in a scene from a music video—sunset casting a golden glow on his skin, one hand in his pocket, the other scrolling through his phone. He looked up the moment I approached and smiled.
"There she is," he said, opening the passenger door for me.
"You're surprisingly punctual," I teased, slipping inside.
"And you're surprisingly dressed like you're not going to spend half the evening questioning your life choices," he said with a wink.
I glanced down at my simple jeans and oversized hoodie. "Comfort first."
"Good," he said, starting the engine. "You'll need it. We've got a sunset to catch."
He drove us out of the noisy campus area and into a quieter part of town, up a hill that overlooked the city. The view was stunning—buildings bathed in amber light, clouds tinged with rose gold, and the sun slowly dipping behind the horizon like it had nowhere better to be.
"Wow," I whispered, stepping out of the car.
"I come here when I need to breathe," Weston said, walking beside me. "And when anatomy lectures make me question my will to live."
I laughed. "So this is your escape."
"Exactly. And now, yours too."
We sat on the hood of his car, sharing suya and a bottle of cold drink, our laughter drifting into the breeze. It was easy with Weston—like talking to someone who understood the weight you carried without needing a detailed explanation. He didn't fill the silence unnecessarily; he let it breathe.
At some point, he looked over at me, his expression softer. "You know, I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Why?" I asked, meeting his gaze.
He shrugged. "You seem like someone who's used to handling everything on her own."
I looked down, picking at a piece of suya. "Maybe I am. Doesn't mean I always want to."
He nodded slowly. "Well… for what it's worth, you don't have to—at least not with me."
The words sank in, quiet and grounding. I didn't say anything right away, but the silence between us didn't feel heavy. It felt like a promise.
After that evening, something shifted.
It wasn't dramatic or loud—there was no grand confession, no cinematic moment under the stars. But there was something undeniable in the way Weston looked at me now, and in how often I caught myself thinking about him during the day, even when I was supposed to be memorizing cranial nerves.
He texted more frequently—small things at first.
How's your caffeine supply holding up?
Don't forget to blink while you're reading.
Guess who just slept through a 7 a.m. class again?
Sometimes, I'd find myself smiling at my phone like an idiot in the middle of the library. Even Nadia noticed.
"Wow. He's got you," she teased one evening, eyeing me as I typed a reply. "Alora the Ice Queen has fallen."
"I am not an ice queen," I said, trying to sound offended.
"You used to flinch when anyone said hi for too long. Now look at you, giggling at your phone."
"I am not giggling," I protested.
But I was.
One night, after yet another session of pretending to study and actually just basking in each other's company, Weston walked me back to my hostel. The campus was draped in silence, lit only by scattered lamps and a blanket of stars that shimmered above us like quiet witnesses.
We strolled in a kind of charged stillness, our conversation having dwindled into something softer. My arm brushed against his, and this time, I didn't pull away. He noticed.
His fingers found mine—tentative at first, like he was asking a question. Then firmer, like he already knew the answer.
"I like you," he blurted out. "A lot."
My breath caught. I hadn't expected him to say it—not like that, not so openly. I froze, the words jamming up in my throat, emotions I hadn't fully sorted swirling inside me.
"It's okay," he said quickly, sensing the shift. "You don't have to say anything. Don't overthink it."
I appreciated the gentleness in his voice, the way he tried to make space for my silence. I did like him—more than I was ready to admit—but I wasn't sure what to do with that yet. So I said nothing. He walked me the rest of the way in silence, and I watched him leave with a storm brewing quietly in my chest.
A few days later, he showed up outside my lecture hall holding two iced coffees.
"I figured your brain could use this more than you know," he said, offering one to me.
I stared at it for a second before taking it. "You… remembered?"
"Yeah," he replied, his tone quieter than usual, almost careful.
"Thanks, Weston."
"Anytime," he said. Then, after a beat: "Actually… all the time."
His eyes lingered on mine, and for the first time, I didn't look away. The wall I'd put up, the one I thought was made of steel, cracked just a little more.
But the days that followed were… different.
His messages grew shorter. Slower. Calls stopped coming. I didn't need a soothsayer to tell me something had shifted. He was giving me space—and I hated how much I noticed.
Still, I wasn't ready. Not yet. Not with exams looming like thunderclouds overhead. I told myself we'd talk after, when my mind wasn't so cluttered. When I had room to feel what I already knew was there.
Then it hit me like a jolt—
Marcel.
I gasped. "Oh my God…" Marcel!"
I scrambled for my phone. Missed calls. Texts. Voicemails. All unanswered. Guilt twisted in my chest like a knot.
Between the endless study sessions, the emotional chaos with Weston, and my tunnel vision for exams, I had completely shut out the one person who'd always been there. He must be worried sick.
I knew what I had to do.
I had to call him.