Rosie

Late January.

I was a bundle of nerves as I walked onto the campus for my first day. I didn’t think I’d be back in school in my life after being expelled. I’d given up on education for now, but here I was, in a red hoodie that covered the side of my face, my hands holding the handle of my bag tighter, feeling anxiety eating my soul up.

God, I wasn’t really mentally prepared for this as I walked further, following the map pamphlet in my hand. Highland University was bigger and more lively than I expected, filled with groups of students chatting, laughing, and moving together. I felt like an outsider. Late registration, late acceptance. I was even shocked when I was given admission in my last semester of final year. Maybe because of my GPA throughout three and a half years, I had to count for something. But I prayed to be able to make it through.

Although I was a top student throughout my life, that top was for my parents. I studied more than normal to be better than Sophia—late nights, endless coffee, sleepless nights—so that I wouldn’t let them down. But here I was. I wasn’t a genius or a talented person. Everything was my hard work, and I never gave up. Upon all I can’t be better than my twin genius.

I hugged the pamphlet tighter to my chest, gulping the anxiety in my throat down as I reminded myself, I deserved to be here even if nervousness and self-consciousness wanted to pull me down, make me run away and hide. But I wouldn’t do that.

I’d promised Maya and myself.

I’ll graduate with top grades and shove it in my parents’ faces.

I remembered the conversation I’d had with Maya a few days ago. We were inside the café, trying to come up with a new recipe for a spring special when I volunteered to make a flier for it. That’s when Maya had looked at me with those warm eyes and asked, “Why aren’t you in school, Rosie?

I’d deflected at first, giving her vague answers, while smiling sheepishly.

She smiled softly at me, gently touched my arm. “Finish your school, have your degree. Don’t let them pull you down. If not for your parents, do it for yourself. In the future, you will be proud of the decision.”

“But...”

“You are smart, hardworking, and deserve to reclaim your dreams. Don’t let them rob it from you without even trying to achieve it.”

I stared at her and felt hope blooming in my chest. Can I really do it? And she nodded at me as if she read my mind, squeezed my arm, and urged me to try.

When I got home that very day, I entered the school website and applied for late registration. I’d attached my transcript from Silverwestern—the one that showed three and a half years of perfect grades—and wrote a brief explanation about needing to transfer due to personal circumstances. I hit submit before I could second-guess myself, before fear could make me chicken out.

Within two days, I was in the cafe when I received an acceptance email. I was so shocked and surprised that I didn’t know when I screamed out, my hand flying to my mouth as tears rolled down my cheeks. I’d done it. I’d actually done it. They’d accepted me

Maya had hugged me when I told her, squeezed me tight, and whispered, “I knew you’d do it. I knew you would.”

So here I was inside school, walking through the pool of students to find my first class. My schedule said English 401—New Trends in Syntax. Not my favorite subject, but required for my English Education degree. After wandering for ten minutes, I found the right building and slipped into the classroom, choosing a seat in the back row, hoping to be invisible. And it worked. Everyone was too busy chatting with friends, scrolling through phones, settling into their seats to notice the new girl hunched in the corner.

The professor walked in with his laptop, a middle-aged man with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He stood at the podium, holding a remote for the projector. And the good thing about college was that no professor had the time for new students to introduce themselves.

The professor pulled up his first slide. “Alright, let’s pick up where we left off last week. Today we’re covering the Development of X-bar theory—”

The door opened and Jude entered.

I watched as he smiled at the professor, and my chest started thumping loudly. Was Jude doing this course? Wasn’t he a hockey player? What did he need Syntax for? My eyes were transfixed on him. He looked different here—his stance more confident, more like the athletic star everyone whispered about. He wore a Highland University Hockey hoodie that stretched across his broad shoulders, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d just come from practice.

He was out of reach. The thought came in, and I smiled bitterly. As I started to turn my gaze away, his head lifted suddenly, like he was sniffing something. His eyes scanned the room and then landed directly on me.

And it happened again. It felt like time stopped. The noises of students faded to the background, the professor’s voice became a distant hum, and an unspoken spark waved between us. I felt parched immediately, my throat going dry as my body buzzed with that same electricity I’d felt every time we touched

I quickly glanced away, heat flooding my cheeks, not without noticing some students’ eyes had turned to follow Jude’s gaze—to me. Great. I’d made myself known. So much for being invisible.

Jude’s eyes softened, a small smile graced his lips and he didn’t even listen to what the professor was saying as he walked to an empty seat beside me.

I tried to pretend I wasn’t flustered, that the heat emitting from him wasn’t making my stomach flip and the manly sandalwood and pinewood scent wasn’t making my head mushy.

Jude quietly leaned over to me, his voice low. “Hey, didn’t know you were taking this course?” The timber of his voice made me breathless.

I shrugged awkwardly, trying to mask whatever was going on inside me. “English Education.”

“Oh,” he smiled. “Then I can show you around after class.”

I swallowed hard. “Don’t you have something to do after class?” I asked in a small voice. “Practice or... something?”

He turned to me with a boyish smile. “When you are concerned, I’m always less busy.”

And my heart flipped without my approval while I fiddled with my fingers, biting the corner of my inner cheek. Did he really mean that? Don’t think ahead of yourself, Rosie! He’s just a kind guy. That’s all. He helped you once, and now he’s being nice. Nothing else.

I looked away from him and faced the front of the class, did my best to listen to the professor’s nasal voice droning on about phrasal category and lexical category. But it was impossible to concentrate. Throughout the class, Jude was ridiculously attentive to me, especially when the professor pulled up a tree diagram sample of a noun phrase.

“See this part?” Jude whispered, leaning in close. “This is where the sister node—”

I nodded even though I barely understood, too distracted by how close he was.

Then he did something that made my brain short-circuit. He took my hand—just reached over and took it—and guided my finger to my notebook, drawing the tree diagram. “This is Spec, Head ...”

The electricity zapped through me at his touch, that same overwhelming sensation, and I jerked slightly. He grinned like he understood exactly what was going on, and kept holding my hand anyway as he continued explaining.

After class—which felt like both an eternity and five seconds—Jude kept his word. He packed up his stuff, waited while I gathered my things, and then led me out of the building.

“So,” he said as we walked, “I’ll give you the real tour.”

He showed me around the campus. The library, “The third floor is the quiet floor, but the second floor is where people actually study.” The student center, “Best coffee on campus, way better than the café in the business building.” The study spots, “This bench is perfect when the weather’s nice.” And then the heart garden.

It was a small garden tucked between two buildings, with a stone path winding through winter-bare flower beds and a fountain in the center shaped like—

“A heart,” I said, feeling my face heat up.

“Yeah.” Jude rubbed the back of his neck, his ears reddening. “It’s, uh, where couples usually... You know.”

We both stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us looking at each other before he cleared his throat. And ushered me forward.

I relaxed as we continued the walk, his frame comforting and soothing beside me. His velvety voice made my pulse jump every time he spoke, pointing out buildings and telling me campus stories. Being near him felt like coming home—safe and warm and right in a way I couldn’t explain.