The semester pressed forward like a tide, lectures and assignments piling up until the days blurred into weeks. But I noticed a pattern—Wendu was always there.
Always waiting at the gate.
Always sliding into my space like we were bound by something invisible.
Always paying for food, fuel, little things I knew she couldn't repay.
It was comforting and suffocating at once.
One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting lecture, I emerged from the hall and spotted Wendu's car parked across the road. But before I could reach it, someone stepped into my path Josh.
"Hey," he said, his smile disarming. "You always walk past me like I'm air. Thought I'd try again."
My instinct was to brush him off. But this time, something in his tone made me pause.
"Josh, right?" I said flatly.
His smile widened. "So you do remember."
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. "I didn't forget. I just don't have time."
He kept up with me, matching my stride. "Nobody's ever too busy for a hello."
At the car, Wendu's eyes narrowed as she watched us approach. Her fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel.
I opened the door without a word, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Who was that?" Wendu asked, her voice sharp.
"Josh," I replied, fastening my seatbelt. "He was just saying hello."
"Just hello?" Wendu's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Josh still standing at a distance, watching us.
"Yes," I said firmly.
The car fell into silence as we drove out of campus. The tension in the air was thick, and I could feel Wendu's disapproval pressing against her skin.
Finally, Wendu spoke. "You shouldn't encourage him."
"I didn't," I snapped. "I barely spoke to him."
"That's enough for someone like him. A little attention, and he'll think he owns you."
I turned to her, her frustration bubbling over. "And who decides that? You?"
Wendu's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm looking out for you."
"Or controlling me?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. The air between them crackled, heavy with things unsaid.
When they got home, Wendu disappeared into her room without another word.
I sank onto the couch, my heart racing. I hated how much Wendu's opinion mattered, how easily her moods could twist the air in the apartment.
And yet, when my phone buzzed with a new message, I found myself wishing it was from Wendu, an apology or even an explanation.
Instead, it was Josh.
Hope you got home safe. No hard feelings. Maybe coffee sometime?
I stared at the screen. I thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Part of me wanted to ignore him, to keep everything neat and simple. But another part—the part tired of being measured, controlled, and second-guessed—ached to reply.
blared.
My stomach dropped.
It was Wendu's car. Parked a few feet away. Window down. Eyes burning through her like fire.
I froze, caught between the café behind me and the storm waiting ahead.
.....
The next few days, I avoided Josh. I thought if I kept my head down and my steps quick, he would eventually lose interest.
But he didn't.
On a breezy Thursday afternoon, as I packed my books after class, Josh appeared at the door of the lecture hall, leaning casually against the frame.
"Don't run off today," he said with a grin.
I froze, caught off guard. Students streamed past them, whispering, some shooting curious glances. I hated the attention, hated that he was putting me in the center of it.
"Josh, what do you want?" I asked, my tone sharper than it intended.
His grin softened into something serious. "Ten minutes. Just coffee. No strings."
Before I could protest, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Look, I know you've got someone who keeps hovering around you. But I'm not trying to compete. I just… want to know you. For myself."
The words hung in the air, heavier than I expected.
I stared at him, stunned. He wasn't joking, wasn't playing the usual campus-boy game. His eyes held a sincerity that unsettled me.
I should have walked away. I should have brushed him off the way Wendu would want.
Instead, I heard myself say, "Ten minutes."
---