The moment the library doors closed behind Jasmine, she exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her hand to her chest as if that would steady the rapid pounding of her heart. Even now, hours later, she could still feel Andrew's presence hovering in her mind—the brief contact, the way he had smiled, the easy charm that made him seem both approachable and untouchable at the same time.
She knew she needed perspective. Someone who could help her navigate her racing thoughts without judgment. Someone who understood her better than anyone else. That person was Trisha Arellano.
Trisha was already waiting for her at their usual café near campus, a steaming cup of iced coffee in front of her and a laptop open, though her focus clearly wasn't on the screen. She looked up as Jasmine slid into the chair opposite her, concern immediately knitting her brows.
"Jas! You look like you just ran a marathon." Trisha leaned back, studying her friend carefully. "What happened?"
Jasmine groaned, resting her forehead on her hands. "I… I don't know. Something happened. I can't stop thinking about it."
Trisha tilted her head, smiling knowingly. "Ah… the mysterious man of your dreams appears out of nowhere, and now you're a mess. Tell me everything."
Jasmine rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the flush creeping onto her cheeks. She recounted the incident in the library—the collision, the scattered notebooks, the brief conversation, Andrew helping her, the way he had smiled at her. She left out nothing.
Trisha listened quietly, fingers drumming on the table, eyes wide in fascination. "Wow," she said finally. "That… is something. But, Jas, you're talking about Andrew Smith. You know… Andrew Smith."
"I know," Jasmine said, exhaling. "And that's the problem." She took a sip of her coffee, though the liquid did little to calm the storm in her chest. "He's… he's… he's not like other people. He's… different. And he noticed me. For a moment, I actually felt like I mattered to someone who… actually mattered."
Trisha leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. "Okay, first things first: breathe. Second, notice that you're freaking out because he is different, yes, but also because you care. You've liked him from afar for months, haven't you?"
Jasmine's cheeks burned hotter. "Not… really. Not like that. I mean… I admired him, yes. From a distance. But this… this was different. I don't know. I can't explain it."
Trisha smirked. "You're blushing, Jas. Don't lie to me. And don't act like you're the only one struggling to deal with something that makes sense and no sense at the same time."
Jasmine huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "You make it sound so simple, Trish. It's not simple. He's… he's…" She hesitated, words failing her.
Trisha nudged her gently. "Rich. Popular. Perfect on paper, right? And you… aren't. You support yourself, you work, you're practical, grounded… and you're worried it'll never work."
Jasmine's eyes dropped to her coffee. "Exactly. He's… he's got everything. And I… I barely manage my own life. It's ridiculous to even hope…"
Trisha reached across the table, squeezing her hand. "Hey, listen. It's not ridiculous. Hope doesn't care about social status or differences. But you have to be smart about it. One step at a time. Right now, just focus on… surviving until your next class. Everything else… we'll figure it out."
Jasmine nodded, though the warmth in her chest didn't dissipate. She wished it were that simple. She had spent most of her life being practical, keeping emotions in check, doing what had to be done. And yet, Andrew Smith had entered her life like a sudden gust of wind, dislodging everything she had carefully structured.
Meanwhile, across campus, Andrew Smith's day was far from quiet. He had just met Claire Dela Peña for lunch, the perfect girlfriend, the kind of girl people envied. Claire's presence was radiant—hair perfectly styled, designer bag slung effortlessly over her shoulder, and a smile that could charm anyone in a five-mile radius.
From the outside, she was flawless. Popular, beautiful, smart enough to keep up in Andrew's circle, and adept at managing the image of the "ideal girlfriend." People often said they were the perfect couple: wealth, appearances, and charm perfectly balanced.
But perfection, Andrew had learned, was rarely genuine.
Claire was already acting distant, texting under the table, and smirking at her phone as though sharing some private joke. Andrew frowned slightly but chose not to comment, unwilling to make assumptions. He had learned that in relationships, reading too much into small things could be dangerous.
"Andrew," Claire said finally, looking up with her bright, practiced smile. "We should celebrate the project grades. I mean, you aced that macroeconomics exam!"
Andrew smiled politely. "Thanks. Yeah… I guess it's worth celebrating."
She leaned closer, brushing her hand across his arm. The gesture was intimate, but Andrew couldn't ignore the subtle flicker of distance in her eyes, the way she quickly looked down at her phone again, pretending it didn't matter. A small warning bell rang in his mind, though he pushed it aside.
"Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly seeming attentive, almost as if sensing his hesitation.
"I'm fine," he replied cautiously. "Just… busy with school, work, and other things."
Claire nodded, but the tension was there. He could sense it now. She was hiding something. The ease of their image—the smiles, the charm, the public perfection—felt like a mask. Andrew didn't like masks. He had grown up seeing people put them on, hide behind them, and deceive others. He knew the signs. And now, they were flashing in front of him like neon lights.
Back at the café where Jasmine and Trisha sat, the conversation drifted to Andrew again.
"Do you really think he even notices you?" Trisha asked, stirring her coffee.
"I… I don't know," Jasmine admitted. "Maybe just a little. He smiled, that's all. But it felt… real. Like he was genuinely… curious about me."
Trisha's grin widened. "See? That's a start. Not a full-blown romance, not yet, but a spark. That's enough to work with."
Jasmine frowned. "But there's Claire," she said softly. "Andrew's girlfriend. Perfect, charming… someone who looks like she belongs in his world. Not me."
Trisha leaned back, folding her arms. "Claire sounds… complicated. Perfect on the outside, maybe, but if I know Andrew's type, and if what I've seen is true… she's probably not as perfect as she seems."
Jasmine tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"
Trisha leaned closer, voice dropping. "I'm just saying… sometimes people who seem perfect have secrets. Things that don't line up with the smiles and pictures everyone sees. And sometimes, those secrets break the people around them. If Claire is hiding something, it might explain why Andrew seems… unsettled lately. Did you notice? The way he's distracted, even around his friends?"
Jasmine swallowed hard. She had noticed. There had been small moments—Andrew's eyes flickering, a hint of unease in his laughter, moments where his mind seemed elsewhere. She hadn't wanted to read too much into it, afraid it was only her imagination.
"Maybe…" she said softly. "Maybe he's not… happy. Maybe that's why he looked… different in the library. That's why he seemed… kind, real, noticing me."
Trisha nodded knowingly. "Exactly. And maybe you're just… a little glimpse of something real for him. Don't overthink it, but don't ignore it either."
Jasmine leaned back, her thoughts spiraling. She had spent so long keeping herself grounded, practical, independent, and yet the idea that Andrew Smith might notice her—genuinely—was thrilling and terrifying all at once. It was a feeling she had never allowed herself to indulge, not with anyone, let alone someone who seemed so far out of her world.
Meanwhile, Andrew returned to his dorm after lunch with Claire, still unsettled. He hadn't confronted her yet, hadn't asked the questions that nagged at the back of his mind. Something didn't feel right, and the idea that Jasmine Alvarez—just an ordinary scholar, grounded, independent, unaware of the attention she drew—could capture his curiosity added a complicated twist to his emotions.
He replayed the library encounter in his mind, the way she had apologized, the way her hands had moved over her notebook with precision, the quiet determination in her posture. She was different. Genuine. Unpretentious. And for the first time in months, Andrew felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long while: intrigue.