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 beneath a chocolate cardigan, paired with charcoal-grey flared denim.
Her eyes drift to the counter, her 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 cheeks cradled in his palms.
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 alone with the mystery man.
Across from the café sits a quaint boutique with a cottage-style façade,
its windows adorned with lace and soft, pastel tones that blend seamlessly with the town's serene charm—
a quiet, secret breath of peace within the sprawling metropolis of Vernellia.
Soft footsteps graze 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—
and 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 with gentle warmth. "It's alright."
"What shall I get you both?" he asks,
pen poised 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 says, her voice soft, her nerves already tingling with excitement at the thought of sweetness and the warmth of brew soon melting on her tongue.
The waiter nods, writing down her order with quick, practiced strokes, the faint scratch of ink breaking the café's hush. 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 though the rest of the world has faded away, and he sees straight through her soul, intent on consuming her whole within the quiet radius of his deliberate, unnerving spell.
"He asked for your order," she says, her voice edged with quiet firmness—though the tender rose hue blooming on her cheeks softens her words.
He finally straightens, leaning back in his chair, his gaze lifting to the waiter with a bored yet dangerously grim expression—one that makes the poor man nearly flinch.
"Have you had breakfast?" she asks instead, her voice soft, almost hesitant.
He simply shakes his head—a faint smile curving his lips, one that might have seemed pitiful on anyone else, yet somehow still manages to tug at her heart.
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—his 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.
She gazes up at the clear blue sky beneath which the grand campus unfolds—surrounded by neatly trimmed greenery and trees dressed in lush autumn hues.
Students buzz about, some lingering in clusters of chatter,
others walking alone toward the majestic red-brick building that rises ahead, its white-trimmed windows and stately columns gleaming proudly in the sunlight.
The grand central doorway, with its green double doors, draws the eyes upward to a slender white cupola crowned with a golden spire.
The symmetry and elegance of it all radiate academic prestige—
tall, proud, and timeless in its purpose of shaping young minds into the figures who would one day lead society.
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 red blooming in her cheeks, a quiet flush stirred by the rush of anxiety—the cold, quick chill of blood vining through her nerves.
Then Neva stops and turns toward him.
"You only said—until the university," she murmurs, her voice rippling 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, and she tenses slightly as he reaches forward—his fingers brushing lightly against the crown of her hair.
She blinks, her breath catching, 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.
He turns, walking out through the campus gates—his silhouette drifting, then fading into the crowd of students swarming around, their chatter and movement consuming 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.
She turns on her heels and walks forward—only half-aware of her surroundings,
as an unfamiliar hollowness blooms quietly 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, a fleeting breath 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, alive with the pulse of possibility.
Then she whispers a quiet prayer in her heart, reminding herself—academics are but a part of normal 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, deep and certain.
And being one among the top twenty in the entrance exam, against hundreds of others,
she ought to believe a little more in herself.
She senses a presence beside her and glances to the right—
where a girl with wavy, chestnut hair tied into a ponytail settles into the seat next to hers.
"Hi! I'm Emma!" she chirps,
reaching out a hand, her smile soft and bright, carrying an ease that instantly lightens the quiet air around them.
"I'm Neva," she replies, offering a small, gentle smile as she accepts her hand.
A grin lights up Emma's face, radiating pure excitement as she leans in, curiosity glimmering in her hazel-brown eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
Neva nods, her smile lingering, faint but warm. "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, confusion feathering across her features before she murmurs, almost hesitantly, "Oh… yeah. I guess I like red."
Emma's round eyes brighten as she leans in closer. "Can I ask you another?"
Neva nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Ask away."
"Is he your boyfriend?" Emma asks, still watching her closely.
"What?" Neva frowns, her eyes narrowing in confusion as her mind drifts, trying to pull at the strings of Emma's words.
When did people start dating colors?
"Girl~" she exclaims, leaning back with her arms crossed, quiet disappointment evident in the faint shrug of her shoulders.
"The guy you were with before—at the campus gates? That ring a bell?"
Neva's eyes widen, a flustered jolt rushing through her 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," she says, the same bright grin etched across her lips, her tone carrying a teasing lilt.
Neva nods slowly, her eyes brightening at the unexpected, yet 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?" she asks, her voice soft but eager.
"He owns a car maintenance workshop," Emma says, her tone lifting with lively ease. "I visit my boyfriend there often, he works at the same place—
so I've run into Rhett a few times."
Her brows twitch with excitement, 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.