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SAMARA

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After a long day of girl's training, I didn't even bother with my usual post-practice grumbling-my only mission was to get under a hot shower and scrub off two hours' worth of sweat and floor grime. I feel about five pounds lighter as I get dressed, throwing on my favorite white hoodie and light blue baggy jeans, hair in a high puff. I only bother with eyeliner, mascara and some gloss.

The goal today: sticky notes, highlighters, and maybe a cute new folder to convince me my course isn't out to end me. Or at least keep me organized while it tries.

The mall isn't far, but after the afternoon I had, walking doesn't even cross my mind. I grab an Uber and am out the door, mentally running through what I need. Stationery aisles, here I come.

Once I get to the store, I make a beeline for my essentials: sticky notes, highlighters, and one of those non-sticky memo pads for jotting down the endless code bugs I'll run into this week. The pastel highlighters catch my eye, and I don't even pretend I'm not grabbing the set. Something about cute supplies makes the late-night study grinds feel... manageable. Slightly.

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Shopping done, I end up at a diner across town close to campus, that I hit up a few times a month. It's small, a bit old-school, with just the right amount of bustle to make it cozy. Donna, the girl behind the till, waves when she sees me, her blonde ponytail swinging as she shouts, "Samara! Back for more fries and ice cream?"

"Like clockwork," I laugh, pretending to be scandalized. "You know I'm weak for a burger, though."

"Then it's a good thing we've got just that," she winks, ringing me up. Donna's not exactly a friend-friend, but she always makes me feel welcome, and I can tell we're on the same page about the essentials: food and gossip.

I settle into my favorite corner booth, scrolling through my tablet and laughing at tik-toks as I wait. The mental strain of the week may be getting to me. I deserve a little bit of brain rot. More like NEED it. I don't handle stress well and I came to the conclusion that having moments like this are quintessential for my sanity.

Once I see my food coming my way, I set up my tablet on the table and prepare to watch an episode of Never Have I Ever.

The burger, fries, an iced water and vanilla shake hit the table, and I dig in, mentally toasting to cliché meals that are exactly what you need. I'm halfway through the last of my fries when I check the time and realize I've been here long enough to look like I'm avoiding my entire life outside of these walls. So I finish my fries....slowly.

Can't rush fries.

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Outside, the air's turned chilly, and small groups are gathered around their cars in the parking lot. Music spills softly from one of the cars, and I pull my tote bag close.

Two vibrations bring my attention to my pocket where my phone lies. I am fishing my phone out of my pocket just as-

Splash.

Cold, sticky wetness spreads across my hoodie. The shocked gasps around me barely register as I look down, processing the giant chocolate milkshake splattered across my clothes. It's everywhere, dripping onto my jeans, my hands, and I'm standing there, horrified and chocolate-coated.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," a guy's voice cuts in, soft but definitely panicked. "I didn't see-sorry, really," he mumbles, fumbling with napkins, dabbing at the disaster on my hoodie until he stops abruptly, realizing he's about three inches away from what's practically my chest.

I look up to see him-really see him. He's tall, light-skinned, muscular, and those black eyes are about as deep as they come. There's a tattoo peeking out from under his hoodie at the neck and I can only imagine it stretching down his arm.

One word. Wow

I don't even have the words to tell him it's fine, just, you know... breathe.

"It's... okay, I wasn't looking either," I stammer, laughing awkwardly as he takes a step back, napkins clutched in his hands like they'll actually help.

People are still watching, and I can feel the milkshake drip down as I manage a smile. "It's okay... I'll just... clean up." I head straight back to the diner, catching Donna's sympathetic but amused look. In the bathroom, I grab some wet paper towels, trying to salvage my hoodie, but it's hopeless. Now, instead of a sleek white hoodie, I'm basically wearing a giant brown blotch. And it's way too chilly out to go without it.

I'm halfway through muttering some not-so-nice things about my luck when Donna taps on the door, handing me a black hoodie with a little grin. "Here, it's clean" and runs off before I can say anything. I take off mine and fold it neatly to stuff in my bag. I take the new one and shrug it on. It's cozy and way too nice, A mix of cologne and something woodsy.

I find Donna back at the till again, her little scurry off making sense. I watch as the girl she was helping, heads over to a table so I approach. "Thank you so much for the hoodie, you're my hero" I say.

She shakes her head and gestures her head towards the door. "Don't thank me girl. It's from the guy who just redecorated your hoodie. I don't think he could look any more apologetic if he tried."

"Oh my god, really?" and she lets out a small laugh.

Taking a deep breath, I give Donna a thumbs-up, mumble a short bye and step back out to find him leaning against the diner's door......waiting.

"Thanks for the hoodie," I start, giving him a light smile. "You really didn't have to go that far."

He shrugs, voice warm and laid-back. "Spilled all over you-kind of makes it my responsibility."

"I think we share that responsibility. I should've watched where I was going too. Plus, I got a clean hoodie out of it."

"True," he nods, smirking.

"I was actually going to ask if I should get your messed up one cleaned, but you know, maybe we just call it even and say we BOTH need to pay better attention."

"Deal," I say, nodding. There's a pause, the kind that feels like both people don't quite know what to say next but also don't really want to leave, either.

"How can I get it back to you. You know, preferably after a wash?" I ask breaking the silence.

"How about I give you a ride home and you can give it back then and you don't have to worry about washing it. Besides what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk home after that?" he says with a small smirk. One with a certain effortless charm unlike the cocky one Damson usually sports.

Interesting timing for a comparison.

"True, but I don't know you. Stranger danger"

He laughs, an easy, carefree sound that catches me off-guard. "Touché."

"So, uh, how about this instead," I suggest, pulling out my phone. "I can get your hoodie back to you once I've washed it. We'll swap numbers, and I promise to return it sans milkshake."

He quirks a brow, a grin spreading across his face. "Ah, so bumping into me wasn't a ploy to get my number?"

"Boy, please. I don't need an excuse if that's what you're implying," I say, rolling my eyes with a smirk. "Besides I couldn't have known you'd fork over your hoodie"

He puts his hands up, eyes glinting with amusement. "You're right, you're right. Though, it is kind of suspicious-you bump into me, get my hoodie... seems like a long game."

I roll my eyes, grinning. "Relax, you're not all that."

"Fair enough," he laughs, passing me his phone and I enter my number. And he mimics my movements entering his on my phone.

We exchange phones, and he glances down at his screen. "Samara," he says, trying my name out with a half-smile and somehow it sounds....nice coming from him. "Maybe next time, less milkshake?"

"Akeem," I say, reading his name off my screen. "Yeah. I'd say less chocolate, more... whatever's normal."

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, his phone rings. He steps aside, murmuring a few words to the person on the other end. I catch him saying he'll be right there. Turning back to me, he sighs, looking almost apologetic.

"I've gotta run," he says, voice soft but smiling. "Take care, alright? Get home safe." I raise my eyebrows, calmly surprised.

"You know....wouldn't want to miss out on getting back my hoodie" he rushes out and I let out a chuckle

"Of course wouldn't want that. Till next time."

He starts toward his car, a sleek black Jeep that I can't help but notice. Just before getting in, he looks back, gives a small wave and that smile that I'm sure gets him out of trouble way too often. I wave back, probably more awkwardly than I'd like, but he just grins, and then he's gone.

I shake my head, both embarrassed and a little.....flattered. I zip up his hoodie all the way to my neck this time, feeling a weird sense of contentment and excitement.

Getting back to my dorm would take me about a 15 minute walk. I take a deep breath, the setting sun casting everything in a warm, pinkish glow that makes campus look like a postcard. Each step feels lighter, like the world's just taken a turn I didn't expect.

I don't know where it's going but I think it might be pretty interesting.

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