The day ended just like any other — quietly.
Classes passed, the hallways emptied, and the sky shifted into that warm orange of early evening.
It was 5:00 p.m. when Brandston stepped out of the dorm showers, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still sliding down his skin.
He walked casually toward his room, mind already halfway thinking about dinner — until he turned the corner.
Standing there, like something out of a bad movie, was Allan — flanked by three of his friends.
Allan smirked, stepping forward with that same arrogant swagger.
"Yo," Allan said, voice low and mocking. "We got unfinished business, pretty boy."
Brandston barely glanced at him.
He didn't even slow down.
He simply walked, water still dripping from his hair, muscles flexing under his skin with every step.
He had no interest in drama.
Ignoring them should have been enough — but ignoring Allan only made things worse.
Allan's face twisted with anger.
Without warning, he swung a fist straight at Brandston's head.
But Brandston — still holding onto his towel with one hand — shifted easily to the side.
The punch missed, slicing through the empty air.
Brandston didn't even glare.
He didn't threaten, didn't square up like Allan obviously wanted.
Instead, he kept walking, voice calm and almost bored:
"Guys, please. I don't want a fight to happen."
No anger.
No fear.
Just pure indifference.
That pissed Allan off more than anything.
But Brandston didn't give him another second of attention.
He just kept walking down the hall, towel still clinging to his hips, disappearing into his dorm room like nothing had happened.
Inside the room, Joel was sprawled on the top bunk, phone pressed to his ear.
He laughed at something his friend said, kicking his legs lazily back and forth.
When he spotted Brandston walk in, Joel quickly ended the call.
"Aight, bro, talk later," Joel said into the phone, before tossing it onto the bed.
Joel sat up, immediately catching the tense look on Brandston's face.
"Yo, man, what's up?" Joel asked. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Brandston shrugged, grabbing a clean shirt from his side of the room.
"It's just Allan," he said. "Trying to get on my nerves. Nothing new."
Joel nodded like he understood perfectly.
"That dude's got serious main character syndrome. Don't let it get to you, bro."
Brandston gave a small, tired laugh.
He didn't want to waste more energy on Allan.
The two settled into their normal nightly routine — Joel talking about random stuff, Brandston half-listening, their voices blending with the soft hum of the evening air.
But something gnawed at Brandston's chest.
Something he couldn't quite explain.
And finally, after minutes of silence, he spoke.
"Hey... bud," Brandston said quietly.
Joel froze.
Then a huge grin spread across his face.
"Whoa! You called me bud! Historic moment, my guy!" He laughed, throwing a pillow at Brandston's leg. "What's up?"
Brandston hesitated.
He sat down on his bed, hands resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
"Listen, man... have you ever... felt something weird?
Like, in your chest? I mean— in your heart... when you see a girl?"
Joel blinked.
Then he practically exploded with excitement.
"WHOOOOOAAAA!" Joel shouted, sitting straight up. "No way. No freaking way. My boy's catching feelings! Yo, tell me who it is! Who's the lucky girl?!"
Brandston turned his face away, pretending to be annoyed — but Joel could see the red creeping up his ears.
"I don't know," Brandston mumbled. "And it's not love, man. Don't make it a big deal."
Joel snorted.
"Sure, sure. 'It's not love,' he says," Joel teased. "Next thing I know, you'll be writing poetry and sighing at windows."
Brandston didn't answer.
He just flopped backward onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His mind, however, wasn't quiet.
He could still see her face — the girl from earlier.
Still remember the way she hadn't even looked at him.
The way her existence felt like gravity, pulling him in without a single word.
What was this feeling?
He didn't know.
But as he closed his eyes and let the hum of night wrap around him, he knew one thing for sure:
Tomorrow, he'd probably end up thinking about her again.
And again.
And again.