The Date
I spent the entire morning pretending not to think about it.
The "date." The wager. The humiliation disguised as fun.
By noon, my room looked like a battlefield — cardigans, skirts, books scattered on the bed. I didn't want to look pretty. I wanted to look… unapproachable. Forgettable. If he'd chosen me to amuse his ego, then fine — I'd make it the dullest evening of his life.
So I wore the plainest things I owned.
A cropped striped cardigan, black and cream. A dark A-line skirt that fell just below my calves. High-top sneakers, black and white, the laces slightly frayed. My hair was tied into a loose, careless bun. I looked in the mirror — colorless, expressionless. Perfect.
When my mother peeked into my room, she smiled faintly.
"Going to the library again?"
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Group study."
She didn't question it. She never did. She trusted me too much.
I grabbed my bag — small, round, black — and stepped outside.
The autumn air was sharp, crisp with that faint smell of rain and smoke. I had only walked halfway down the lane when I stopped short.
He was there.
Leaning against a black car, hands in pockets, the afternoon light tracing the edge of his jaw.
Adrian Madden.
"How—" I began, stunned. "How do you know where I live?"
He smiled, unbothered. "I asked."
"You asked?"
"Yeah. Someone from your department."
My jaw dropped. "That's invasive."
He shrugged lightly. "I call it efficient."
I glared. "You're unbelievable."
He looked at me then — slowly, eyes dragging from my sneakers up to my cardigan. "You look…" His lips twitched. "...like you're about to attend a literature conference in the 1800s."
"Good," I said sharply. "That's exactly the vibe I was going for."
He laughed softly, genuine this time. "You're impossible."
I crossed my arms. "Are we done with insults or should I go back inside?"
He gestured toward the street. "Come on. Let's walk."
---
The city was different in autumn. The pavements were littered with orange leaves that crunched underfoot. Streetlights hadn't come on yet, but the sun was already low — everything was tinged with that warm, dying gold.
We walked side by side, the silence not quite comfortable, but not suffocating either.
Why does he walk so close? Why does his silence sound heavier than words?
"So," he said finally, hands in his coat pockets, "tell me something about you that's not written on your scholarship record."
I shot him a look. "You read that?"
"Curiosity."
I sighed. "There's nothing interesting to tell. My father passed away. His business partner betrayed him, and we lost everything. My mother works herself sick to keep us afloat. I study. That's it."
He was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry."
I shrugged. "It's life."
"You don't miss it? The comfort?"
I looked up at the trees. "Sometimes. Mostly I miss peace."
He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "You know, I thought you were just another shy student trying to disappear. Didn't expect all that weight behind the silence."
"That's rude," I said.
"Honest," he replied.
I glanced at him. "Your turn."
He hesitated, then said, "My father's the Prime Minister."
I stopped walking. "Excuse me?"
He gave a small, humorless smile. "I thought you knew. Everyone does."
I stared, processing. "The Prime Minister's son is betting on stupid dates and taunting juniors?"
He chuckled quietly. "When you say it like that, I sound like a disaster."
"You are a disaster."
He smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe."
There was something in his tone that softened me despite myself. The confidence, the swagger — for a second, it cracked.
●What if I really fall for him?
What if he's playing with me? What if I'm just another story he tells his friends later, another wager he wins without breaking a sweat?
No. No, I can't. I don't want to fall. I need to focus. Study. Make my mother proud. Build something real so she never has to work herself sick again.
I promised myself I wouldn't get distracted.
Especially not by him.
We walked again.
---
When we reached the old city library, he stopped.
"Here," he said. "You like books, right?"
I blinked. "How do you—"
"You always have one with you. Even at lunch."
I said nothing.
Inside, the library was warm and faintly dusty, sunlight cutting across the rows of books like golden threads. We found a corner table, hidden from the main aisle. He leaned back in his chair, watching me flip through the pages of an old poetry book.
"You know," he said, voice low, "this isn't as boring as I thought it'd be."
"Glad I could underwhelm you properly."
He smiled. "Underwhelmed isn't the word I'd use."
I looked up at him — and instantly looked away.
● Why does he look at me like that? Like he's trying to read a secret I don't even know I'm keeping.
Stop it, Arisha. This is not what you came here for.
That silence again, the one that wasn't empty.
---
Later, when we left, the air had cooled. We stopped near a small coffee shop tucked between two brick buildings. The scent of roasted beans drifted out through the door.
"Coffee?" he asked.
"I don't drink coffee this late."
"Tea, then."
He bought it anyway — one cup for him, one for me — and we sat on the curb outside, watching the last of the leaves fall.
Across the street, a small flower cart stood unattended. Among the bundles, one caught my eye — a single white daisy, fragile and out of place among the bold colors.
He noticed.
Without a word, he stood up, crossed the street, and came back with it.
I frowned. "You didn't need to—"
"Relax," he said, handing it to me. "It's just a flower, not a proposal."
"I didn't ask for it."
"I know. But you looked like you wanted to."
I hesitated, staring at the daisy in his hand. The petals trembled in the breeze.
● Don't read into this. It's nothing. Just a flower. Just a stupid, gentle gesture from a boy who could ruin you without meaning to.
You can't afford to fall, remember?
Finally, I took it. "You're… strange."
He smiled faintly. "Takes one to know one."
For a moment, the noise of the city faded — the passing cars, the laughter, everything. Just the two of us, sitting there with tea cups and a daisy between us, under a sky turning violet.
And for the first time since the wager began, I forgot it was supposed to be a game.
And that terrified me.