♡ The Presentation
The morning came dressed in nerves and autumn wind.
I stood before the mirror, fingers brushing the hem of my dress. The fabric was soft and light, a faded ivory that fell just above my knees. Over it, I slipped on the cropped cardigan — red, bright and reckless, a shade that didn't belong to someone who wanted to go unnoticed.
The fine ribbed knit hugged my arms, the ruffled cuffs grazing my wrists. The color was almost too bold for me, but somehow, it made sense today. I wanted to feel alive. Defiant. Something other than the quiet girl everyone thought I was.
When I left the apartment, my mother's voice echoed in my mind. "Study, Arisha. Focus on what matters."
I smiled faintly. She'd never understand this kind of battle — one that wasn't about grades, but pride.
---
The auditorium was already buzzing when I arrived. The Finance Department had turned up in their sharp suits and perfect hair, looking like they'd stepped out of a business magazine. The Literature Department, by contrast, was a mix of creativity and chaos — scarves, coffee cups, and half-folded notes.
And then there was him.
Adrian Madden stood at the edge of the stage, talking to one of the professors. The dark suit, open collar, rolled sleeves — effortless. His hair caught the morning light, a few strands falling across his forehead. He looked up, mid-conversation, and his eyes found me.
He froze for just a heartbeat.
Then that faint, knowing smirk curved at the edge of his mouth.
I ignored it, walking past his team to join mine. Mila caught my arm, whispering, "You look… dangerous."
"Good," I said softly. "Let's win."
Mila nudged me as I sat down. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I lied. "Just… trying not to pass out."
She grinned. "Good. Means you care."
---
The project theme — Emotion in Marketing Communication — was displayed across the screen behind the stage. Each team had ten minutes to present their case.
Finance went first.
Adrian's team started strong — clean slides, crisp data, graphs that climbed like ambition itself. His teammates spoke confidently, their arguments smooth and precise. When Adrian stepped forward, the energy shifted.
He didn't need notes. His words came like silk — deliberate, persuasive. He talked about markets and behavior, about how emotion could be measured, controlled, even monetized.
"People don't buy products," he said, "they buy feelings — the illusion that their choices make them unique. Emotion isn't chaos. It's a tool."
The audience nodded, captivated. Professors murmured in approval.
I wanted to hate how good he was.
But when he glanced at me mid-sentence, a challenge flickering in his eyes, something sharp twisted in my chest. He wasn't just performing — he was provoking.
Then it was our turn.
Mila went first, introducing our concept — the emotional integrity behind literature, how stories created trust and connection no algorithm could replace. Our two teammates followed, explaining how language built meaning beyond numbers.
Finally, it was my turn.
My palms were cold, but my voice didn't tremble.
"Emotion," I began, "isn't something to manipulate. It's the core of what makes communication human. Data tells us what people do — but only stories tell us why."
I looked toward Adrian as I spoke, refusing to drop his gaze.
"You can measure everything — clicks, likes, engagement — but you can't measure what stays in someone's heart after the words are gone."
My voice trembled only once — on story — but I pushed through. The words came smoother after that, carried by something I couldn't quite name. When I finished, the applause was soft but sincere.
I sat down, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
"Proud of you," Mila whispered, squeezing my arm.
I smiled weakly. "Don't jinx it yet."
When both teams finished, the judges retreated to a corner to deliberate. Whispered voices filled the hall, tension simmering like heat.
Mila leaned toward me. "We did amazing. Right?"
I bit my lip. "So did they."
For once, she didn't argue.
Minutes passed. Then one of the professors — an older man with kind eyes — stood and sighed.
"Both teams demonstrated exceptional understanding," he announced. "Frankly, we're at an impasse."
Students groaned softly. Someone asked, "Then who wins?"
The professor smiled. "We'll let chance decide. A lottery."
The hall exploded in noise — laughter, disbelief, complaint.
"Seriously?" Mila muttered. "We break our backs for a lottery?"
Across the aisle, Adrian's team looked equally stunned. One of his teammates shrugged; another smirked as if already confident in their luck.
A clear glass bowl was brought to the stage — two folded slips of paper inside: Finance and Literature.
The head professor stirred them once, then held out the bowl.
"Arisha," Mila said suddenly, nudging me. "You draw."
"What?"
"You're the calm one."
I almost laughed. Calm. Right.
Hands shaking, I walked up to the stage, every step heavy with heartbeat. The professors watched with amused patience; Adrian leaned casually against a desk, hands in pockets, eyes never leaving me.
I reached into the bowl, fingertips brushing the two folded papers. One felt colder. I hesitated, then pulled it free.
The professor unfolded it.
A pause.
Then: "Finance Department."
The room erupted.
Their side cheered. Ours groaned. Mila cursed under her breath, half-laughing, half-annoyed.
Adrian just smiled — slow and satisfied — as if the universe had bowed for him again.
Afterward, both teams gathered near the stage, signing the stupid "bet agreement" on a sheet of paper for the faculty's amusement. Two days of doing whatever the winning team asked.
Mila rolled her eyes as she signed. "Don't make us regret this, Madden."
"Regret?" he said lightly. "Never crossed my mind."
Then he looked at me. "You should work on your luck, Rossi."
I crossed my arms. "You should work on winning without gambling."
He grinned. "Oh, but luck favors the bold."
"Or the annoying."
He chuckled under his breath. "You'll find out tomorrow."
---
Later, as the hall emptied and the echo of laughter faded, I sat alone in the back row.
The air still smelled of dust and adrenaline. My fingers trembled from the leftover rush. Every noise in my head felt too loud — every heartbeat, every breath.
I wasn't used to standing under that kind of light. To being seen.
It wasn't fear anymore — it was exposure. Raw, unfiltered.
Maybe that's why he got under my skin so easily. Adrian didn't fear being seen. He wanted it. He thrived on it.
And me? I was just learning how to exist in the open.
---
When I finally stood to leave, he was waiting by the door.
"Didn't think you'd still be here," I said quietly.
He shrugged. "Didn't think you'd run."
His gaze softened slightly, almost unnoticeable. "You were good today."
"Lucky words from the lucky team," I said, moving past him.
He let me go, but his voice followed. "See you tomorrow, Rossi. Try not to overthink it."
Too late.