The third time Auston Simmons saw her, she was slumped on the concrete bench outside the engineering building like the quarter had personally betrayed her. Notebook open, pencil tapping an angry rhythm, messy bun slipping sideways. Same girl.

He almost kept walking. Almost.

Auston shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder, six-foot-two frame casting a long shadow across the jacaranda leaves. At twenty-one he’d gotten pretty good at keeping his head down — classes, lifts, runs, repeat. He wasn’t looking for anything. Or so he kept telling Ryan.

Two weeks ago, after a brutal back-and-biceps session, Ryan had wiped sweat off his face and grinned like an idiot. “Bro, I’ll manifest a girl for you, trust. You’ve been single way too long.” Auston had snorted and told him to fuck off. His last two tries still stung. One cheated. The other felt like settling. He wanted something real, so he’d rather stay focused than chase half-assed connections.

Then the universe decided to be funny.

First time he met her: late-night gym, almost empty. She’d walked up carrying a heavy dumbbell like it was nothing, but asked him for help reracking it. That awkward angle where you can lift the weight but can’t quite maneuver it back without risking a smashed foot. He’d taken it from her easily, slid it onto the rack, and raised an eyebrow.

“Impressive lift. Terrible rack game, though.”

She’d laughed, surprised and bright. “Yeah, well, some of us have priorities other than perfect gym etiquette, glasses.”

They’d ended up talking shit about Professor Lang for ten minutes. She was in his class too. Her dry comebacks had caught him off guard. He’d caught himself smiling the whole walk back to his dorm like a dumbass.

Second time: just a quick nod and “hey” between sets the next week. But her eyes had lingered half a second longer than necessary. Or maybe he’d imagined it.

Now, third time.

Auston stopped beside the bench. She looked up. Recognition, then that tired little smile that did way more to him than it should have.

“Hey,” she said.

“Rough day in paradise?” His voice stayed low, soft-spoken like always, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re staring at that notebook like it owes you money.”

She sighed dramatically. “Chemical engineering is trying to murder me. I’ve been stuck on this for over an hour and my brain is officially mush.”

He tilted his head, brown eyes calm behind the black rectangular frames. “Mind if I look?”

She handed him the notebook. He scanned it for a few seconds, then let out a quiet, amused breath.

“Classic. You carried this constant wrong from the second step. Everything after that is just beautifully wrong.” He pointed with the end of her pencil, then glanced up at her with a subtle smirk. “Lang’s specialty. Dude still owes me a point from last quarter. I’m convinced he’s petty on purpose.”

She groaned and dropped her face into her hands. Auston’s smirk deepened into a private half-smile as he handed the notebook back.

Once she fixed it, the conversation flowed easier than it had any right to. They roasted Lang’s vague exam questions, the godawful group projects, and the dining hall food that deserved a lawsuit. He liked how quick she was. No fake laughs. No weird energy. Just real.

But there was tension now — the kind that made the air feel a little thinner. He kept noticing small things: the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, how her eyes stayed on his when she talked, the faint flush on her cheeks that might’ve been from frustration… or something else.

When things got quiet, Auston rubbed the back of his neck, feeling Ryan’s stupid “manifestation” comment echo in his head. He wasn’t usually the type to push, but something about her made him want to.

He met her eyes, voice low but carrying that dry edge. “If you want, I can save you from another hour of this suffering. I already took this course. Library after classes, my notes, my questionable patience — all yours.”