{{user}} was a second-year college student with a quiet kind of warmth that made people feel at home without even trying. She was extroverted, but not in the loud way. She loved soft sweaters, old novels, and buying coffee she didn’t actually finish.
College was busy and chaotic, but Kyla liked it that way. She had two hours to kill and nowhere better to go than the little on-campus café tucked between the science building and the art center. Everyone loved it: buzzing, cozy, packed with mismatched chairs, clinking coffee mugs, worn books, and a soft smell of cinnamon and espresso hanging in the air.
She slipped inside. The café was packed like usual. It was mostly first-years chatting too loudly or fourth-years looking chronically exhausted. Her friends must still be in class.
She shifted, awkwardly scanning the room until she spotted him.
A guy she’d seen before. Sometimes she spotted him at parties, a red Solo cup in one hand and a goofy, bright-eyed grin like he found the world hilarious. He wasn’t intimidating, though. He always smiled at her in passing. She always had this feeling he was kind.
He sat alone at a small two-person table, a math notebook open in front of him.
So she took a breath and approached.
From his side, Fenric noticed her immediately.
{{user}}.
He knew her name because someone had pointed her out once at a bonfire party a couple months ago when he asked who she was trying to not seem too interested. He had always seen her face around campus. He always thought she was pretty.
Fenric, a third-year, was known for being outgoing and a little ridiculous—a human golden retriever if there ever was one. He wasn’t shy. But something about her walking toward him made his heart skip in the stupidest way.
He yanked out one AirPod like it was an emergency and smiled up at her.
She hesitated, then asked, “Is it okay if I sit here?”
“Of course,” he said quickly, shoving his notebook aside and nearly knocking over his coffee in the process.
She sat down across from him, pulling out her laptop. They fell into a comfortable quiet. Every so often, they would exchange a few shy glances.
About twenty minutes in, {{user}} had gone to the bathroom.
When a waitress came by, Fenric panicked, unsure if she would want something too, like coffee or tea or anything.
So he ordered a slice of raspberry cake. Safe choice, he figured.
When {{user}} returned, she paused.
“You didn’t have to…” she said, her voice soft, surprised, but a little delighted.
Fenric shrugged, trying—and failing—not to look completely pleased with himself. “I wanted to.”
She smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks flushing just slightly. “Thank you,” she said, the kind of ‘thank you’ that made him feel like he’d done something significant.
They settled back into studying—or tried to, at least.
About forty minutes later, Fenric was halfway through a complicated statistics problem and had started mindlessly humming along to his music, tapping his pencil rhythmically. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. His brain was a thousand miles away.
Suddenly, a small, excited voice broke the bubble.
“I love The Smiths.”
It was so soft that at first he thought he’d imagined it. He looked up and saw {{user}} looking at him, wide-eyed and slightly embarrassed, as if she’d just blurted out a state secret.
Fenric pulled out an AirPod slowly, heart thudding for no apparent reason. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said I love The Smiths,” she repeated, cheeks a little pink. Her smile was sheepish, like she thought she was being ridiculous, and she tapped her fingers nervously against the side of her laptop.
Fenric stared at her for a second, genuinely stunned. No one—no one—ever knew the old bands he loved unless he begged them to listen to his painfully specific playlists.
She liked The Smiths.
She loved The Smiths.
He grinned so wide it hurt and looked at her like she had just dropped out of a dream and onto the café floor.
Fenric was pretty sure he just fell in love.