The warm aroma of freshly baked bread, laced with the tingling sweetness of pastries and the rich scent of coffee, greets Neva the moment she steps into the Bakery Café.
Neva inhales deeply, a breezy smile curling on her lips.
The bell chimes again as he steps in next—the Mystery Man, trailing behind her as she moves deeper into the quiet café.
She slips the black handbag off her shoulder and places it on the seat beside her. The one she'd chosen to complement her outfit today: a milkmaid-style,
deep wine lace blouse, paired with charcoal-grey flared denim.
Her eyes drift to the counter, brows knitting in mild disappointment when she finds neither the kind cashier nor a single worker in sight—just as the Mystery Man casually takes the seat across from her.
Great.
The place feels as silent as a shrine, empty of any soul but the two of them.
Even the Mystery Man is unnervingly quiet.
She turns to the window, feigning indifference to the man whose unrelenting gaze remains fixed on her,
a smile playing on his lips as he sits there, his face cradled in his hands.
She lets her gaze wander across the street, grateful for the quiet scenery,
and for the presence of anyone else at all—to spare her from being completely devoured by the intense presence of him.
Across from the café sits a quaint boutique with a cottage-style façade.
Its windows are adorned with lace and soft, pastel tones that blend seamlessly with the town's serene charm,
a quiet breath of peace within the sprawling metropolis of Vernellia.
Soft footsteps thud against the floor, tearing Neva's gaze from the morning scene beyond the open window to the young man approaching their table.
The rolled sleeves of his striped white shirt, the green apron cinched around his waist—its tag reading Bournville Bakery & Café, the small pocket notebook with a pen in hand make it unmistakably clear: he's the waiter.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am," the waiter says with a polite, easy smile.
Neva shakes her head, returning his smile. "It's alright."
"What shall I get you both?" His pen poises above the open pages of his pocketbook, prepared to note down the orders.
"I'll have some crepes with chocolate and strawberry filling, and a cup of coffee, please." Neva's nerves already tingles with excitement at the thought of sweetness and warmth of brew soon melting on her tongue.
The waiter nods, writing down her order with quick, practiced strokes. Then he turns to the Mystery Man seated across from her.
"And what can I get for you, sir?" he asks—only to be met with silence,
awkward and lingering in the still air.
Neva bites the inside of her lip, never growing accustomed to the Mystery Man's strange, effortless behavior.
Like now—his gaze still lingers on her, as if the rest of the world has faded away.
As if he sees straight through her soul, intent on consuming her whole within the radius of his unnerving spell.
"He asked for your order," she says, her voice edged with firmness, though the tender heat blooming on her cheeks softens her words.
He finally straightens, leaning back in his chair. His gaze lifts to the waiter with a bored yet dangerously grim expression.
It makes the poor man nearly flinch.
"Have you had breakfast?" she asks softly, a little hesitant.
He simply shakes his head, a faint smile curving his lips, one that might have seemed pitiful on anyone else.
A quiet sigh escapes her as she turns to the waiter, who stands silently watching them.
"He'll have the same as me," she says gently, then glances back at the man across from her. "Are you okay with that?"
He nods, a giddy smile blooming in place of the pitiful one—her heart melting like strawberry and chocolate ice cream beneath the warmth of a beautiful daylight.
⑅ ⑅ ⑅ ⑅
It comes as no surprise to Neva when the Mystery Man tags along—
from the Rose Byrne apartment to the Bournville Bakery & Café.
And now, here again, as she reaches the tall, open iron gates framed by the thick, red-brick walls of Vernellia University,
with him trailing just a few steps behind her.
Beneath the clear blue sky unfolds the grand campus,
surrounded by neatly trimmed greenery and trees dressed in lush autumn hues.
Students buzz about, some lingering in clusters of chatter.
Others walk alone toward the majestic red-brick building that rises ahead, its white-trimmed windows and stately columns gleaming proudly in the sunlight.
Some gazes drift toward them as she walks along the concrete path flanked by a carpet of freshly mown grass.
She can't help the heat rising in her cheeks, stirred by the rush of anxiety, the quick chill of blood vining through her nerves.
Then Neva stops and turns toward him.
"You only said—until the university." Her voice ripples low, barely lifting above the autumn breeze.
He tilts his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Right."
He pulls a hand from the pocket of his hoodie.
She tenses as he reaches forward—fingers brushing lightly against the crown of her hair.
She blinks, a faint flutter stirring in her chest at the unexpected warmth.
"See you later, Neva," he says, stepping back—his gaze still lingering, their eyes locking in a quiet,
unspoken thread of shared breath.
With a smile, he turns, and walks out through the campus gates...
His silhouette drifts, then fades into the crowd of students swarming around.
Their chatter and movement consumes her vision until he's gone, like a faint, familiar breeze swallowed by the noise of the day.
Her fingers graze the spot where his warmth still lingers.
"Did he mess up my hair?" she whispers to herself.
She turns on her heels and walks forward, only half-aware of her surroundings.
An unfamiliar hollowness blooms in her chest,
a strange, whispering song that drift across meadows, fading into the distant mountains.
⑅ ⑅ ⑅ ⑅
Neva had already memorized the campus map she found on the internet.
The twists and turns carefully studied to ensure she could avoid any unnecessary confrontation with strangers or the echoing embarrassment that followed.
And that's how she easily finds her way to the neat, half-empty lecture hall, its rows of blue desks and cushioned seats rising in a gentle arc.
She climbs a few steps and settles in the middle row—
almost empty, except for a girl with glasses seated at the far end.
The girl's books are neatly spread out,
and a digital pen moves swiftly over her tablet screen, her focus absorbed in whatever notes she's taking.
With the college she chose, Neva knows the academic demands will be high, the environment charged with sharp minds and competitive scholars, each driven by their own quiet brilliance and ambition.
As she slips the bag off her shoulder and pulls out her books onto the desk, a faint tremor runs through her hands.
She can't help but wonder if she truly belongs here—if she can make it.
Her chest tightens with quiet anxiety, caught between hope and doubt.
She looks ahead at the spotless whiteboard behind the professor's desk, its blank surface awaiting a silent stage.
The murmur of footsteps and laughter swells around her as more students stream in, the air thickening with a bright, electric energy—one that feels at once thrilling and terrifying.
She whispers a quiet prayer in her heart, being reminded that academics are only a part of living, meant to expand knowledge and offer guidance for the future to come.
Life is not a race, nor a competition.
She's here to learn,
to live, to seek purpose, and to build her own gentle garden in some serene corner of this chaotic, yet beautiful world.
A soft sigh escapes her, light with tender enlightenment.
Her fingers trail through the pages before her as the thought lingers—
life shouldn't be so frightening, so judged, or endured,
but lived in pursuit of small, sacred slices of warmth, peace, and quiet happiness.
She'll linger by; she'll make sure of it,
for she can already feel the love she holds for literature.
And being one among the top ten in the entrance exam, against thousands of others,
she ought to believe a little more in the Lord.
She senses a presence beside her and glances to the right, where a girl with short wavy, chestnut hair tied into a ponytail settles into the seat next to hers.
"Hi! I'm Emma!" she chirps and reaches out a hand.
Her smile is soft and bright, carrying an ease that instantly lightens the air around them.
"I'm Neva," she replies, offering a gentle smile as she accepts her hand.
A grin lights up Emma's face,
pure excitement and curiosity glimmering in her amber eyes as she leans in. "Can I ask you something?"
Neva nods, her smile lingering. "Sure."
"Do you like Rhett?" Emma asks, her gaze narrowing slightly, studying Neva's face for even the faintest flicker of reaction.
"Huh?" Neva blinks, confused.
Then she murmurs, hesitantly, "Oh… yeah. I guess I like red."
Emma's eyes brighten even more as she leans in closer. "Can I ask you another?"
Neva nods. "Ask away."
"Is he your boyfriend?" Emma asks, watching her closely.
"What?" Neva frowns in confusion she tries to pull at the strings of Emma's words.
When did people start dating colors?
"Girl~" she exclaims, leaning back with her arms crossed, disappointment evident in the shrug of her shoulders.
"The guy you were with before—at the campus gates? That ring a bell?"
A flustered jolt rushes through Neva's nerves.
"His name is Red? As in the colour red?"
Emma chuckles softly, shaking her head. "No. It's Rhett." She raises a finger, spelling it out carefully, "R–H–E–T–T."
Then she tilts her head, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "I guess?''
"At least that's how my boyfriend calls him." The same bright grin etches across her lips.
Neva nods slowly, eyes brightening at the unexpected, pleasing revelation—she finally has a name for the Mystery Man.
Neva leans in slightly,
unable to hold back the curiosity simmering in her chest. "How do you know him?"
"He owns a car maintenance workshop," Emma says, her tone lifting with lively ease. "I visit my boyfriend often, he's an employee there, so I've run into Rhett a few times."
Her brows twitch with excitement, her eyes glinting as she watches Neva,
clearly enjoying the unfolding curiosity.
"I see." Neva nods again,
her gaze drifting absently to the open pages before her.
Yet the Mystery Man lingers, echoing through the soft corners of her mind.
His name… really is Rhett.