♡ The Aftermath
I woke up before sunrise.
The daisy sat on my desk, still in the paper he'd handed it in. Its petals were slightly wilted now — edges curling, color fading. I should've thrown it away. It was just a flower. Nothing more.
But instead, I found an empty pot on the balcony, pressed soil into it, and planted the stem carefully, as if it were something fragile and precious.
When I stood back, my fingers dusted with dirt, I felt ridiculous.
"It's just a flower, Arisha," I whispered to myself. "Not a memory."
And yet, as the city woke up — cars rumbling, vendors calling out — I couldn't stop looking at it. Something about it felt too alive to discard.
---
At university, the noise hit me before I even reached class.
The hallway buzzed with whispers. People turned their heads, grinning. I could already guess why.
Mila spotted me first. "There she is!" she said dramatically, throwing her arms around me. "Our little date girl!"
I froze. "Don't—"
"Oh, come on!" she laughed. "You and Adrian Madden walking down the street together? Half the campus saw you two. Library, coffee shop, the flower? Arisha, a flower?"
I felt my face heat up. "It wasn't— He just—"
"Bought it for you?" Mila teased, eyes sparkling. "Oh, how tragic. Literature girl tames the finance prince."
I groaned. "He didn't tame anything. It was a dare, remember?"
She smirked. "Right. A dare that looked suspiciously romantic."
I turned away, clutching my books tighter. "You're impossible."
"Admit it," she said, following me into the lecture hall. "You enjoyed it."
I opened my mouth — then closed it. "It wasn't awful."
Mila gasped. "Oh no. That's how it starts."
I threw her a look, but she only laughed harder.
---
Across campus, I could tell he was getting the same treatment.
I saw him in the courtyard later — surrounded by his usual circle of friends, all smirking like conspirators.
"Mission accomplished, Romeo?" Lucas said, his grin wide. "Or do you need another round to make her fall?"
Adrian leaned back against the bench, unreadable. "It was just a date."
"Sure," Damon said dryly. "Just a date where you bought her a flower."
Lucas whistled. "Man, she's quiet, bookish, and completely immune to your charm. Admit it — that's why you can't stop thinking about her."
Adrian didn't respond immediately. He tapped his fingers once on his knee, gaze distant.
"I don't think about her," he said finally, but his tone lacked conviction.
Lucas grinned. "You just like saying her name, huh? Arisha Rossi. Has a nice ring to it."
Adrian shot him a look that shut him up. But the damage was done — the teasing laughter echoed anyway.
And for a second, he found himself replaying that moment in his mind — the girl standing in the soft glow of a streetlight, hair slightly messy, cardigan slipping from one shoulder, refusing his compliments with quiet defiance.
She didn't look like everyone else.
She looked real.
---
I didn't see him for the next two days.
Part of me was relieved. The other part — the one I didn't want to acknowledge — noticed the absence too keenly.
In the evenings, I found myself glancing at the balcony, where the daisy had started to stand taller. Against all logic, it had survived.
Maybe it was the sunlight.
Maybe it was stubbornness.
One night, I caught myself whispering to it. "You'll die if you rely on people like him."
The wind stirred the leaves, as if laughing at me.
---
Friday came, and with it, another surprise.
Our Literature and Finance departments were paired again for a week-long presentation workshop. I saw his name on the board before I saw him in person.
Finance Group A — Adrian Madden
Literature Group A — Arisha Rossi
Of course.
Mila leaned over my shoulder, groaning. "The universe ships you two, I swear."
I muttered, "The universe hates me."
When he entered the room, everything dimmed a little — or maybe that was just in my head. The laughter, the chatter — it all faded.
He walked straight past his friends, straight toward me.
"Looks like we're partners again," he said lightly.
I looked up from my notebook. "Don't expect me to buy you flowers."
He smiled faintly. "Didn't plan to. But maybe coffee this time."
"Don't push it."
He tilted his head. "You're still mad?"
"I'm still sane."
That made him laugh — low and genuine, not the showy kind he gave everyone else.
And somehow, that laugh — more than the flower, more than the wager — stayed with me long after he walked away.
---
That night, as I stood by the balcony, the air smelled faintly of rain again. The daisy's petals were open, facing the faint glow of the city lights.
I reached out, brushing one gently. "You're surviving," I whispered.
Maybe it was the flower.
Maybe it was me.
Either way — something had started to bloom where I least expected it.
---
♡ Closer
The first few days of the project were an exercise in quiet resistance.
We were supposed to work together — Finance and Literature, logic and language. In theory, that sounded poetic. In practice, it was chaos. Numbers versus metaphors. Charts versus chapters.
And between all that — him.
Adrian Madden, who somehow managed to make a simple discussion feel like a duel.
He'd arrive at every meeting immaculately dressed, late by five minutes, coffee in hand, confidence trailing behind him like a shadow.
Me? I came early, notes neatly stacked, pretending his presence didn't make the room feel smaller.
"Your slides are too dense," I said one afternoon, scrolling through his laptop screen.
He leaned closer, voice low. "Dense or detailed?"
"Overcompensating," I replied. "You're trying to impress the judges with numbers, not meaning."
He smirked. "And you want to drown them in poetry?"
"Better than boredom."
"Debatable," he said softly, eyes catching mine for a second too long.
Mila groaned from across the table. "Can you two stop flirting and actually agree on something?"
"We're not flirting," I said immediately.
He just smiled. "She started it."
I glared at him, but my pulse betrayed me.
---
The strange thing was, somewhere between the arguments and sarcastic remarks, something began to change.
Our meetings stopped feeling like battles and started feeling like… conversations. He'd ask about the books I read, and I'd mock his obsession with tailored suits. We'd stay after class, arguing over fonts and phrases, but it no longer felt hostile. There was laughter now — cautious, unexpected, and real.
Once, after a long day, we ended up at the campus café. He insisted on paying for tea. I insisted on refusing.
"Why do you always fight everything I do?" he asked.
"Because you do everything expecting people to agree."
He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"Maybe I just like when you don't."
That shut me up.
---
One evening, as the sky turned violet, we sat by the library steps, reviewing notes. The streetlights flickered on, the soft glow spilling over the pages. I was half-reading, half-listening to the rhythm of his voice beside me.
He wasn't the same person from the cafeteria anymore.
Still confident, still teasing — but there was quiet behind it now.
Something bruised.
"Your father," I said suddenly. "He's the Prime Minister. That must be… a lot."
He was silent for a while.
Then, softly: "He's everything people think he is — powerful, righteous, controlled. But the thing about power is, everyone wants to see it fall."
I looked at him, but he didn't look back.
"Is that why you act like none of it matters?" I asked.
He turned, meeting my eyes at last. "Maybe it's easier that way."
For a moment, the air between us felt heavier than words.
Then I smiled faintly. "You're terrible at vulnerability."
"Working on it," he said. And for once, there was no smirk.
---
Days passed like that — laughter turning to quiet, quiet turning to comfort.
And before I knew it, seeing him had become part of my routine. His voice, his presence, the way he'd lean across the table just to annoy me — it all fit somewhere into my days like a misplaced habit I didn't want to fix.
Mila noticed first.
"You smile more," she said one morning.
"No, I don't."
"You do," she said. "Every time someone mentions his name."
I denied it. Of course, I did. But later that night, standing by my balcony, I caught myself touching the daisy — now taller, stronger, blooming.
And I wondered if maybe, somehow, I was blooming too.
---