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SAMARA

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Sunday afternoons had a certain stillness about them, as though the whole world was on pause, bracing itself for Monday's chaos. On campus, the dining hall buzzed quietly with forks clinking on plates, muted chatter, and the occasional scrape of a chair on the tile floor.

For me, the past two days had been a blur. My mind kept replaying the encounter at the diner-the accidental milkshake spill, Akeem's easy smile, and the way his voice lingered in my ears like a catchy tune I couldn't shake.

And then there was Damson. He hadn't even done anything, really-just his usual mix of smirks and subtle glances. But somehow, his presence loomed just as large in my mind. It was like I was caught between two entirely different books: one a thriller with unexpected twists, the other a slow-burn mystery.

I sighed, poking at my Caesar salad that I had paired with Spaghetti Bolognese. Across the table, Vivica was studying me with the intensity of a detective cracking a case.

"Alright," she said, breaking the silence. "You've been acting weird all afternoon. Spill."

I hesitated, toying with a piece of lettuce. Could I really tell her? Of course, I could. Vivica was my best friend-and if anyone would enjoy this messy little dilemma, it was her.

"I met someone," I said finally, my voice low enough to be swallowed by the background noise.

Vivica froze, her fork hovering mid-air. "I'm sorry, what? You? Met someone? When were you planning to share this groundbreaking news with your best friend?"

"It's not that big a deal," I said, trying to brush it off.

"It's a huge deal. Spill everything."

And so I did. I recounted the entire diner encounter, from the chocolate milkshake catastrophe to the hoodie Akeem had given me and the text I still hadn't replied to. By the time I finished, Vivica was staring at me like I'd just confessed to being a secret agent.

"So, let me get this straight," Vivica started, spearing a piece of garlic bread with enough flair to make me nervous. "You met this fine, tattooed, cologne-commercial-looking man who literally gave you his hoodie and waited outside for you like Prince Charming. And you still haven't texted him back?"

I shrugged, poking at my salad again. "I don't know. It just feels... weird. Like, what if I'm reading too much into it?"

Vivica snorted. "Mara, he gave you his hoodie. He waited outside for you. And he sent you a text with a "princess reference". I'm pretty sure he's interested."

"I've been... busy?," I said weakly.

Vivica raised an eyebrow. "Samara. You've had two days. You're not busy; you're overthinking. Big difference."

She wasn't wrong, but admitting it felt like defeat. So instead, I pulled out my phone and handed it to her, letting her read the text for herself.

Vivica's eyes lit up as she read it aloud: "'I hope you're not pulling a Cinderella on me and running off with my hoodie.'" She let out a dramatic gasp. "This man is a prince. A poet. And you're ghosting him?"

"I'm not ghosting and he's no prince," I said, groaning. "I'm just... processing."

"Processing what? That the universe finally gave you something interesting to work with?" she shot back, her perfectly arched brows raising in mock horror. "Girl, your life has been straight-up vanilla. Books, basketball, and me. That's your holy trinity. And now, boom! You've got two boys with potential-and a hoodie plot twist-and you're over here acting like you're too cool to care?"

"First of all, rude," I said, pointing my fork at her. "Second of all, it's not that simple. Damson hasn't made a move, and I'm not even sure Akeem was flirting flirting."

Vivica let out a loud, dramatic laugh that turned a few heads in our direction. "Not flirting? Babe, the man gave you A TOTAL STRANGER his hoodie. And then waited outside the diner just to make sure you got it? That's not just flirting; that's giving prince energy."

I bit back a smile, refusing to let her win so easily. "Fine, maybe it was a little flirty. But it's not like I know him. And don't even get me started on Damson-he's so... cryptic."

"Oh, we're definitely getting started on Damson," Vivica said, leaning forward with the kind of mischievous grin that made me brace for impact. "Mr. Grandpa has been giving you heart eyes since the first week of training, and you know it."

"Heart eyes? Be serious."

"I am serious. The man called you sugar. That's not just heart eyes; that's soul eyes."

I groaned, laughing despite myself. "You're impossible."

Vivica shrugged, her garlic bread momentarily forgotten. "Listen, I'm just saying, you've got options. It's a nice change of pace from you being married to your laptop and highlighters."

I shot her a mock glare. "My highlighters have never let me down, thank you very much."

"Look," she said, her tone turning serious. "I get it. You're overthinking. That's your brand. But maybe this isn't something you have to think about. Just text Akeem back. See where it goes. And Damson? Let him keep being his cryptic self. You're not choosing anyone today. You're just... exploring."

"Exploring?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes! Exploring. Flirting. Living your life. Whatever you want to call it. The point is, you deserve to have some fun for once. Stop worrying about the 'what ifs' and just enjoy the attention."

It sounded simple when she said it. And maybe it was.

"Besides," she added, "you know what I always say: boys are nice, but you're the main character. Put yourself first, always."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks, Viv."

"Anytime, babe," she said, grinning. "Now, let's get back to this spaghetti. It's not going to eat itself."

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After lunch, Vivica and I stayed in the dining hall for a while, people-watching and finishing our drinks. The room was buzzing with the usual Sunday crowd-students cramming for Monday classes, couples sharing dessert, and a group of freshmen loudly debating the merits of pineapple on pizza.

Vivica's thumbs were a blur as she stared at her phone, her face glowing with the kind of excitement she only ever got from texting a new guy. It was Jason this week. Last week, it was Malcolm. Next week? Well, I wasn't sure, but the pattern spoke for itself.

It's not like Vivica's life was boring-far from it. She seemed to have a fresh talking stage every seven days, and each one ended the same way: with an "ick" so catastrophic it sent her sprinting for the hills. Malcolm chewed with his mouth open. Chris apparently had no idea what a Roth IRA was. Next week, the offense could be something as random as the wrong choice of emojis.

"So," I said, trying not to laugh as I sipped my water, the ice now a distant memory. "How's this week's finalist doing? Jason, right?"

Vivica glanced up just enough to side-eye me before returning to her phone. "Jason. And he's doing fine, thank you very much. He's cute. Funny. Nice teeth."

"Nice teeth?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's what we're going with now?"

"Don't knock it," she shot back. "You'd be shocked at how many men skip flossing. It's honestly jarring."

I snorted. "And yet, somehow, Jason's going to be yesterday's news in approximately... five days. Four if we're factoring in fast shipping on the ick train."

Vivica set her phone down dramatically, narrowing her eyes at me. "Excuse me? First of all, rude. Second of all, it's not my fault these men keep disqualifying themselves! Chris didn't even know what a Roth IRA was. A Roth IRA, Samara! That's, like, the basics of adulting."

I rolled my eyes. "He's, what, 24? The man worked part-time at Foot Locker. You think he's spending his shifts talking investment accounts?"

"That's no excuse," Vivica huffed, crossing her arms. "I just have high standards, okay? There's nothing wrong with being selective."

"Uh-huh," I said, giving her a look. "Or, maybe-and hear me out-you have commitment issues. Like, seriously. The tiniest thing sends you running for the hills. It's like you're avoiding any chance of an actual relationship."

Vivica gasped, one hand flying to her chest like I'd just insulted her entire bloodline. "The audacity."

"I'm just saying!" I laughed. "You could, I don't know, actually give one of these guys a chance? Let them mess up a little before you slam the door on the whole thing."

"Or," Vivica said, tilting her head with a smirk, "I just know what I deserve and refuse to settle for less. Ever think of that?"

"Every single day," I said dryly.

She rolled her eyes but leaned forward, her tone more playful now. "Look, I'm protecting my peace. If a guy can't keep up with me, why should I waste my time? That's not commitment issues-that's called self-care."

"Or," I countered, grinning, "it's called avoiding emotional risk because you're scared of getting attached."

Vivica grabbed a crumpled napkin and threw it at me, laughing. "Shut up, Dr. Phil! Like you're some expert on relationships. Don't think I've forgotten about your two-man juggling act."

"Fair," I said, holding up my hands. "But at least I don't scare them off before the appetizers."

"I don't scare them off!" Vivica said, exasperated. "They just... show their true colors. And those colors? Usually hideous."

"Right," I said, smirking. "So when Jason inevitably sends the wrong GIF or forgets what day it is, are we calling that a red flag or just a you problem?"

She narrowed her eyes but smiled anyway. "You'll see. Jason's gonna last. I'll prove you wrong."

"If Jason's still in the picture by next Sunday, I'll be shocked," I teased, raising my glass of water in mock salute.

"Challenge accepted," Vivica said, her grin mischievous.

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. "You're impossible."

"And proud of it," she said, clinking her glass against mine like she'd just won an Oscar.

Our laughter echoed through the dining hall, filling the space with an easy warmth that only Vivica could bring.

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The crisp air nipped at my cheeks, and the golden light of the setting sun cast everything in a warm, dreamy glow.

Back in my dorm room, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at Akeem's hoodie. It smelled faintly of his cologne, a woodsy, warm scent that was annoyingly appealing.

Maybe Vivica was right. Maybe I was overthinking this.

I grabbed my phone and typed out a reply to Akeem's text, my fingers hovering over the send button.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your hoodie. I promise I'll return it before midnight-glass slippers not included."

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. I would arrange for when to return it later, for now I'm playing the game.

Then I flopped back on my bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why it all felt so complicated.

Maybe what I needed was to stop thinking so much and just... do something. Anything.

For now, blowing off steam seemed like a good place to start.

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