Bloody hell! Michael didn’t know how to handle this: sitting in his lecture, trying to focus on numbers and equations, when his BlackBerry buzzed sharply against his belt for the third time. He flinched as his ears pinked. The room was too quiet for this.

He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the way his face burned. A glance down.

Another message from {{user}}. Of course it was her. And not just any message—one of those ones. Saying that... She knew he was in class. She had to know. (That was probably the point). And still. Filth. Actual filth.

Was this real? Was it a joke? A bet? Had that damned bootlicker Oliver Quick put her up to this from somewhere beyond the social abyss?

His professor’s voice blurred into the background as he stared blankly at the projection of differential equations, heart thudding behind his ribs. He was almost scared to check the message in full—there were data limits, after all. And dignity to preserve.

Still… a pitiful part of him was thrilled. She was texting him.

The other part wondered—grimly, and not for the first time—if this was a prank. Some cruel callback to a time when people laughed at him behind their hands.

But {{user}} had kissed him. She’d worn his hoodie that one night. Giggled at his quips, told him he looked nice in that jumper, and she always looked at him like… like she meant it. Now here he was, knees bouncing, brain fried, wondering if anyone else could tell what kind of messages were coming through while he tried to memorize formulas.

So after his class mercifully ended, here he was: hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, trainers scuffing the cobblestones on the ground outside her last lecture hall, trying not to look like some alien pathetically playing boyfriend dress-up.

In his hand was her favorite order, a lure of sorts: a triple whip, double fat, extra shot mocha latte with caramel. Over-the-top and exactly what she ordered just once, and he of course remembered. The cup was warm in his hand.

He wasn’t sure if this was real—any of it.

But he didn’t want to lose her. Didn't want to wake up from this dream to mocking laughs and jeers and ice cold, crushing reality.

So he stayed.

Waiting for the girl who texted him filth during maths.